


To Stand in Sunlight

by ninjalanternshark



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Accidental Coming Out, Angst with a Happy Ending, Episode Style, M/M, is it slow burn if they don't get together until chapter 2, josh has anxiety, sam is the ride or die (boy)friend, this fic will not be abandoned i'm just struggling with the next chapter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-27
Updated: 2017-11-09
Packaged: 2019-01-23 17:27:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 30,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12512476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninjalanternshark/pseuds/ninjalanternshark
Summary: Chapter One: Josh messes up and outs himself to a White House aide, who might go to the media.Series of episodes about Josh and, later, his relationship with Sam. (Starts in The Oregon Trip, will continue to past Santos's presidency.)





	1. Breaking Point: November 17, 2000

**Author's Note:**

> Alternate chapter title: "the rumor comes out: does josh lyman is gay?"
> 
> TW for: accidental self-outing, light homophobia, the word queer being used (both as a slur and as a positive/neutral self descriptor), emetophobia (not a detailed description), coming out to a parent, and panic attacks (not a detailed description). If you're concerned about something, drop me a comment and I'll be happy to go into detail.
> 
> Gail lives in a 70 gallon tank with two friends because goldfish get ridiculously huge and produce truly impressive amounts of waste. Also, they're social creatures. Don't keep fish in bowls, kids. (That includes bettas and 50 cent feeder fish.)

Josh Lyman is not having a great day.

There’s an oil tanker refusing to surrender to the Navy, a lame duck Congress that’s somehow still fucking them up, and a Republican in his office arguing with him about same-sex marriage. And he’s been at work for - he checks his watch - fourteen hours.

“Come on. Why are you even in your party?” he asks, frustrated. “How can you stand to be in a party that calls people like you an abomination!”

Congressman Skinner responds with some metaphor about the NRA and gun control. Then they start arguing about the difference between a social agenda and allowing freedom of choice.

_ Oh, for fuck’s sake.  _ “If you don’t like same-sex marriage, don’t get married to someone of the same sex!”

“It’s not that simple,” says Skinner.

“It’s exactly that simple!” Josh says, louder than he’d intended to.

“Is everything okay?” Donna calls from the outer office, sounding slightly petulant. She’s probably annoyed that Josh cut her date off. At this point, Josh doesn’t really care.

“We’re fine, Donna,” Josh says, collapsing back into his chair. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Okay, Josh,” she says. Josh can actually hear her eyes rolling.

“You say you believe in individual freedoms. Why don’t you let people  _ individually choose  _ whether or not they want to get married to someone of the same sex?” Josh says.

“That’s not the point. The Founders intended the country to be based on a Judeo-Christian morality.”

“Seems to me they were pretty clear that they didn’t want Judeo-Christian morality anywhere near the country’s laws, Congressman.”

There’s a moment of silence.

“I think we’re done here,” Skinner says softly. “We both know what has to happen. Either the President signs the bill, or he vetoes it and Congress overrides the veto.”

Josh hesitates, then nods. “Thank you for coming by.” The words are automatic, meaningless. The congressman leaves.

He looks at the clock. It’s late, nearly the time when he’ll have to call Air Force One with his recommendation of what to do about the bill. He’s wasted over two hours with Skinner.

“Josh? Are you okay?” Donna asks, sticking her head in the door.

“I’m fine, Donna,” he says. “I’ll find a way out. He won’t have to pass the bill.”

“Okay. Let me know if you need anything,” she says.

“I’m going for a walk,” Josh says, standing up and nearly tripping over his feet as he leaves his office.

“You need to call him soon, Josh.”

“I know, Donna!”

She’s silent.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap,” Josh says after a moment. “I...I know. I’ll call him.” Donna nods and Josh walks out of the room.

He wanders down hallways, turning at random, scouring his brain for an idea -  _ any idea  _ \- nothing was too far-fetched, nothing was too stupid.

_ If we veto it now, we’ll just have to deal with it again in a couple months. Congress will have been sworn in, but it’s the same balance. Maybe some of the freshmen can be convinced to vote our way…but right now a majority of the country wants the bill. They’re wrong, but how can we convince a freshman senator to vote against their constituents? _

And then the answer comes to Josh, blindingly obvious and the best thought he’s had all day:  _ We change the constituents’ minds. _

“We run a PR campaign,” he says aloud. The words echo in the empty stairwell. “We…we run a PR campaign, we gain local support. It’d have to be both grassroots and top-down, or it would never work. God, do we even have time for this? We have to have time. We’ll make time.”

“Time for what?”

Okay, so maybe the stairwell wasn’t empty. Josh turns around. There’s a man standing there, fairly young - in his late twenties, maybe. He seems familiar, but Josh doesn’t really recognize him.

“Never mind. Uh, who are you?” Josh asks.

“Mark. I work for Sam Seaborn. You’re Josh Lyman.”

“Yes,” Josh agrees, trying to remember if he’s ever seen Mark near Sam’s office. “Good to meet you, Mark.”

“You too. What are you working on at this time of the night?” Mark asks.

“A bill. Needs to be done by midnight,” Josh mutters, checking his watch. It’s half past eleven already.

“The Marriage Recognition Act?” Mark says. “Yeah, I heard about that. Shame, I suppose.”

“It’s not a shame. He won’t pass it,” Josh says. “It’ll take work, but we can stop Congress from overriding the veto.”

“Why put that much effort in for such a small issue? That’s hardly going to win votes in a couple years.”

“Because it’s important. And it’s the right thing to do,” Josh says, starting to dislike Mark. “And it shows we won’t let Congress shove us around.”

“The majority of the people want this bill. Congress is right,” Mark says.

“It’s really not, and there’s a reason the majority of the people aren’t allowed to make the government’s decisions on their own.”

“The will of the people, Josh. It doesn’t matter what the White House thinks. The will of the people is the most important thing.”

Josh takes a breath, lets it out. It does nothing to ease the tension in his chest. “It does matter what the White House thinks, because the people elected us of their own free will.”

“You got less than 50% of the popular vote. The majority of the people in this country didn’t vote for you, and now they want this bill passed. Time to pay up. Why do you even care? It’s not like queers have enough votes to matter,” Mark scoffs.

And before Josh can consider the consequence of his words, they’re out of his mouth: “Because I’m gay!”

_ Shit,  _ he thinks.

Mark’s expression turns cold.

Being an adult, a law school graduate, and a responsible person who works with the President in the White House, Josh does the smart thing: he turns and runs.

_ Shit, fuck shit shit shit! Dammit!  _ he thinks as he sprints through hallways at random.  _ Stupid, dumbass, impulsive gonna lose my job the press will find out gonna lose everything -  _

Josh throws himself into a corner and sinks to the ground, doing his level best to become one with the wall.

_ Think, Lyman. Who the hell is Mark? He works for Sam, he can’t be that bad. But - his face - fuck! _

When his breathing slows enough to be almost normal, he looks at his watch. It’s a quarter to midnight.

“Shit,” he says out loud. The word echoes across the room and slowly fades.

He stands up and sits in the nearest desk, picks up the phone and dials his own office number. It rings once, twice, and then Donna picks up.

“Hello?”

“Donna.”

“Josh, are you okay? Where are you?”

“I’m fine,” Josh lies, suppressing the shake in his voice. “Can you patch me through to Air Force One?”

“Okay. We’re talking later,” she informs him, and switches him to hold.

A minute later, Josh listens to the phone ring again. This time, it’s picked up on the first ring.

“Air Force One telephone center.”

“It’s Josh Lyman. I need to speak to the President.”

“Sure thing, Mr. Lyman,” says the operator. “Just a moment.”

Tinny classical music plays. Bach, maybe. Josh was never great at classical music.

“Josh,” President Bartlet says.

“Mr. President,” Josh says reflexively. “How’s your flight?”

“It’s delightful. The skies are beautiful tonight,” he says. “There’s something special about late-night flights, you know.”

“Yes, sir.”

“How did the meeting go?”

_ Focus, Josh. You have a job to do. Something more important than your feelings.  _ “Not well. I don’t think we have enough votes to stop them overriding a veto.”

President Bartlet sighs. “I was afraid of that. What are the options?”

“You could sign it or put in a drawer. Or you could veto and bring on the fight.”

“What do you think?”

This is why Josh respects the President, and also why he wants to stab his eyes out at the moment. Bartlet asks honest questions, and listens to the answers he gets.

“Sir, I…” Josh trails off, shaking his head. “If we put it off until the new Congress is confirmed, we might be able to scrape enough votes. But it would take a lot of work, and we’d need to turn public opinion.”

“You don’t sound very optimistic.”

“It hasn’t been a very optimistic evening, sir.” Josh rocks his chair back, nearly falling backwards before catching himself.

“Josh, are you alright?”

“Fine, sir.” He lowers the chair back down.

“That’s a lie if I ever heard one. What happened?”

“It’s nothing, sir. What do you want to do with the bill?”

“It’s not nothing if it’s shaken you this badly, Josh. We’ll be discussing this when I get back.”

_ God, please not this. Anything but this conversation. Not now.  _ “Sir, you have more important things to do.”

“We’ll see about that. What do you think is the best course for the bill?”

That’s the really infuriating part. President Bartlet’s already made up his mind, most likely. He just wants to see if Josh has anything new to say.

Josh’s breath catches in his throat. “Sir, I believe you should veto the bill.” The words are bitter, tasting of his own fear.  _ What if we lose? It’ll be even worse. _

“It’ll be a long, hard fight,” President Bartlet warns. “I’m willing to fight it if you are.”

“I serve at the pleasure of the President,” Josh says automatically.

There’s no smile in President Bartlet’s voice, only the grit of someone about to start a war. “I’m vetoing the bill.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

“Thank you, Josh. Have a good night.”

“You as well, sir.”

President Bartlet hangs up, leaving Josh back with the operator.

“Anything else for you tonight?”

Josh thinks about how angry CJ had been with Sam a few short months ago. “Can you put CJ Cregg on the line, please?” His voice only shakes a bit.

“Sure.”

More classical music plays. Different this time - Mozart, he thinks. The famous piece that pianists like.

“Josh.” CJ sounds tired.

“CJ. Are you alone?”

“Give me a minute.” Bless CJ and her tendency to not ask questions about requests like that. He hears a door shut through the phone. “Okay, what’s going on?”

“I may have done something really stupid.” Josh’s heartbeat is painfully fast, thumping in his chest and behind his eyes.

CJ sighs. “What?”

“CJ, I-” Josh starts. “I had that meeting tonight. And afterward I was wandering, trying to come up with ideas, talking out loud.”

“Okay, go on.”

“And somebody else was there. He claimed he worked for Sam. He started an argument with me.” That’s what it had been, really. Nobody just...went up to other people like that and disagreed out of nowhere unless they wanted a fight. Especially not that late at night in a nearly deserted building.

“He  _ claimed  _ to work for Sam?”

“I don’t know who he is. He said his name was Mark.”

“Mark what?” CJ asks.

“I don’t know.”

“I’ll have it checked. What happened next?”

Josh’s throat is tight. It’s hard to breath, but it’s too late to take back what he’d yelled in the stairwell. “He asked me why I cared so much and then he said something that made me very angry.”

“Oh, God,” CJ mutters. “What did you say? Surely it can’t be worse than telling that senator to stick his legislative agenda up his ass.”

“I may have told him that I cared about the bill because-I’m-gay.” The last three words come out in a blur, too close together and slurred into each other.

There’s silence on the other end of the line.

“Sorry, I didn’t catch that last bit,” CJ says. “There was turbulence.”

“I told him I cared because I’m gay,” Josh repeats, slower this time. “I said that very loudly. Shouted it, actually.”

“Oh, God,” CJ says again. Josh agrees, frankly. “Were there any press nearby?”

“Not that I saw, but we were in the stairwell. Sound carries in there, you know?”

“Yeah. We’ll need to find Mark and deal with this. The building is pretty quiet most Friday nights, and I have most of the press on the plane so hopefully it’ll be easy to clean up.”

Josh feels like CJ might have missed the point. “CJ?”

“Yes?”

“I am.”

“You are.”

“Yes.”

“You are  _ what _ ?”

“I’m gay.”

“Oh. That’s different, then. Why didn’t I already know this?”

“CJ, I really don’t want to have this conversation right now. Or over the phone.”  _ Or at all,  _ Josh adds in his head. Of course, that’s not really an option anymore.

Why did he have to make such a stupid decision? Why couldn’t he have just left it?

“Okay. Don’t go looking for Mark. I’ll send you an email once I find out who he is. How did he react after you shouted?”

“He, uh, looked kind of. Cold. Like he was suddenly convinced that I was nothing. And then I ran away.”

“You ran away.”

“Yes.”

CJ snorts. “I’m sorry. I just - I can’t picture you running away from anything. No, I’m being horrible. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have laughed. Nothing about this is funny.”

“That’s okay. I’m going to go now.”

“Okay. Josh?”

“Yeah?” Josh says.

“It’ll be okay. If nobody else will, I’ll stand by you.”

“CJ…”

“I’m serious. If the President himself told me to throw you under the bus, I wouldn’t do it. Not for this,” CJ says.

“You’re sweet, CJ. I’m going to go throw up in a toilet now.”

“Okay. We’ll talk later.”

“Bye.”

CJ hangs up.

“Anything else for you, Mr. Lyman?” asks the operator.

“No, thanks. That’s it.”

“Have a good night.”

“You too.”

Josh hangs up the phone and stares at it for a few seconds. A moment later, he jumps up and bolts to the men’s room, making it to the toilet just in time to heave up the remains of his dinner.

He dry heaves twice more and then spits, flushing the toilet before standing at the sink. He rinses out his mouth and splashes water on his face.

His teeth are chattering, though it’s not cold.  _ Damn anxiety.  _ He thought he was over this, but apparently not.

“Get used to it,” he tells himself, not meeting his reflection’s eyes. “There’s a lot more of that coming in the next while.”

He dries off his face and walks upstairs, back to the bullpen.

Donna’s still there, though she looks half-asleep at her desk. She sits up when she sees Josh. “Josh? Have you been crying?”

“No.”

“Your face is all red.”

“I know,” he says, though he hadn’t.

“How’d the call go?” Donna asks.

“He’s going to veto it.”

“So that’s good news, then.” She sounds confused.

“Yeah. Good news.” Josh grabs his coat from his office and turns out the lights.

“Josh.”

“Donna.”

She’s standing in the doorway, blocking him from leaving . “I’m not leaving until you tell me what’s going on.”

“Fine. I’m leaving.” He moves to push past her.

“Josh!” She stands her ground. She’s surprisingly strong.

“Not now, Donna.”

“Come on, Josh. What happened?”

“I said not tonight, Donna.”

“When?”

“Not tonight.”

“That’s not an answer, Josh.”

Josh is tired. He’s so incredibly tired. All he wants to do is go home and sleep. “Donna…”

“Whatever it is, you can tell me about it.”

_ She’ll find out eventually. Probably soon. Better to tell her myself.  _ “Fine. Shut the door.”

Donna shuts the door and turns the lights back on. She plops into Josh’s chair and looks at him expectantly.

“That’s my chair,” he says.

“I had it repaired for you.”

“So what?”

“So I wanted to sit in it for once. It’s like a chair timeshare.”

“Donna.”

“What? Timeshares are a legitimate form of ownership.”

Josh sits in one of the other chairs.

“So what’s going on?” Donna asks, serious now. “Was it the meeting with Skinner?”

“No. I mean, partly. I was walking and talking to myself and somebody started arguing with me.”

“In your head?”

“No! A real person. I don’t know why he was here so late.”

“We’re here this late,” Donna points out.

“I know. So he picked a fight with me and I got angry. And he asked me why I cared about the marriage bill, and I told him it was because I’m gay.”

“Oh. Is that it?” she asks.

“Donna!”

“Okay! Sorry. I’m sure CJ will clear it up soon enough.”

“Donna, I  _ am  _ gay.”

“You are?”

“Yes,” Josh says.

“Oh. That’s why you’re so upset?”

“I’m upset because I accidentally told a stranger, who’s probably called the press by now. And then that’ll blow up, and I’ll have to resign.”

“What? No, Josh! You can’t resign!” Donna says, eyes wide.

“What choice do I have, Donna? I’ll be an embarrassment to the White House.”

“You’re not an embarrassment. You’re a person. And you’re my boss. And it’s not fair,” she says, crossing her arms.

“Life’s not fair, Donna. Go home and get some sleep. It’ll be a long day tomorrow,” he says.

“Not until you go home too.”

“Fine.”

Josh grabs his coat and briefcase and they leave the building together. Donna’s still wearing her red dress, and she shivers in the cold as they step outside the building. Josh hands her his coat, and she slips it on with a murmured thanks.

They hail a taxi. Josh gives his address, and the car pulls away. He stares out the window as the city lights go by, letting them blur together.

“Josh…” Donna says.

“Not here, Donna. We’ll talk more tomorrow, when CJ gets back,” Josh says softly.

“Fine. But are you going to be okay tonight?”

“I’ll be fine. I’m probably going to fall asleep as soon as I get inside. I won’t do anything stupid.”

“Okay.”

They reach Josh’s apartment, and he leaves after paying the taxi driver. “Have a good night, Donna. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Bye, Josh,” she says. The taxi drives away. Josh climbs the three flights of stairs to his apartment and lets himself in.

The apartment he’s lived in for over a year now seems unfamiliar and menacing. Josh lays down on his bed, taking his shoes off but not bothering with anything else.

After a minute, he yanks at his tie and throws it to the ground. He lays awake, staring at the ceiling.

Eventually, he closes his eyes and falls asleep.

_ Beep beep beep! Beep beep beep! Beep beep beep! _

“Huh-” Josh sits up, disoriented. His alarm’s going off. He slaps at it until it turns off, and flops back down.

After a minute - no, can’t go back to sleep, have to go to work - he rolls out of bed and walks to the bathroom.

He brushes his teeth, showers, shaves, and combs his hair before he remembers what happened last night.

“Oh, fuck,” he says to his reflection. “You had to do that, didn’t you?”

His reflection doesn’t talk back, thankfully. Josh puts on his nicest suit - might as well look good on what could possibly be the worst day in his career and probably his life too - and forces himself to eat breakfast before heading downstairs.

He catches a taxi to the White House. It’s early, earlier than he normally gets there. He’d forgotten to change the alarm from yesterday’s early schedule.

He checks in, opens up his office, and boots his computer.

There’s an email in his inbox from CJ. It was sent at 2 am, EST time.  _ That’s like...at least 4 am in Oregon, maybe 5. Did she sleep at all?  _ he wonders.

Josh opens the email.

_ Josh, _

_ There is nobody named Mark working in Sam’s department. AF1 arrives in DC at 6 pm EST. We will meet directly after that. _

_ -CJ _ _   
_ _ Claudia Jean Cregg, Press Secretary for the Office of the President of the United States _

Josh feels slightly ill.  _ He lied. Of course he lied. Was he a reporter? A Republican? _

He searches the web for his own name. Nothing out of the ordinary pops up, even on the gossip sites. Slightly mollified but no less apprehensive, he closes out of the program and gets to work designing a program to keep Congress from overriding the veto.

They can put pressure on as many congressmen as they please, but it won’t make a difference. Everything hinges on public opinion, which is finicky at best and downright vicious at worst.

He works through lunch, not bothering to stop and eat. Donna leaves a sandwich on his desk at around one. She’s been oddly quiet today.

“Donna!” he yells.

“Yes?” she says, appearing in the doorway.

“Why are you so quiet?”

“I thought you might like some quiet.”

“I don’t. Tell me a bad joke.”

Donna thinks for a second. “What’s black and red and black and red?”

“I don’t know, what?”

“A zebra with a sunburn,” Donna says.

“That’s not even funny.”

“You wanted a bad joke. I gave you a bad joke.”

“What else do I need to do today?” Josh asks.

She lists a few minor things - coordination, some sort of problem up on the Hill, and three memos to summarize into two pages.

He works on those for the afternoon, sending an aide to meet with some other aides for some uncooperative democrats.

Leo stops in that afternoon.

“Josh, how are you?”

“I’m fine, Leo. How are you?”

“Fine. What’s going on? I haven’t seen you all day, and you look half dead.”

“You’ll hear about it when everyone gets back.”

“Something happened.” It’s not a question.

“Yeah.”

“How bad?”

“I don’t know. CJ’ll be able to tell us once she gets the information she needs.”

“When do they land?”

“Six.”

Leo nods. “Okay. I’ll see you then. Did you take care of the memos?”

“I did. It’s three pages.” Josh hands the printout to Leo.

“Fine.” Leo leaves the office.

Six o’clock approaches with alarming speed. Josh eats his sandwich. It’s tasteless and soggy, probably because he left it out for so long.

At 5:56, Donna tells him that Air Force One landed ten minutes ahead of schedule.

A scant 15 minutes later, CJ appears in his office.

“Come on,” she says. “We’re meeting in my office.”

Josh and Donna follow CJ to her office. Leo, Toby, Sam, and Ainsley are already sitting there.

“Not her,” Josh says, looking at Ainsley.

“Josh,” CJ says. Ainsley looks a bit offended.

“Not yet, okay?”

“Fine. Ainsley, I’ll fill you in later.”

“Is this because I’m a Republican or because I’m a woman?” Ainsley asks him.

“The former.”

“Fine.” She leaves, and CJ shuts the door and sits down. Josh is left standing awkwardly in the middle of the room.

From her 70 gallon tank, Gail wiggles at him. She’s gained two friends when he hasn’t been paying attention. Her old bowl is sitting inside of the tank.

“What’s going on, Josh?” Sam asks. “CJ wouldn’t tell us anything.”

“Please tell me you didn’t tell another senator to stick his legislative agenda up his ass,” Toby says.

“I didn’t,” Josh says. “Why does everyone keep bringing that up?”

“Because it was memorable,” Sam says.

“Last night I had that meeting with Skinner. I finished the meeting and went for a walk to come up with ideas.”

“Ideas? Did you convince him to veto?”

“He’s vetoing, yeah,” Josh says. “I was talking to myself. I thought the building was empty, but this guy picked a fight with me over the marriage act. He claimed he was working for Sam.”

“Who?” Sam asks.

“He said his name was Mark.”

“Nobody named Mark works for me.”

“I know. CJ told me. He - baited me, I guess, got me angry enough that I wasn’t thinking right. He asked me why I cared so much and I told him it was because I’m gay,” Josh says.

“Are you?” Sam asks. Josh can’t decipher the expression on his face. 

“Yes.”

“Who knows?” Toby asks.

“Me. You. Mark. Possibly the press corps, by now. Depends who Mark is, I guess,” Josh mutters. “Anybody in the stairwell could have heard, but the building was nearly empty.”

“Anybody in the stairwell,” Sam says.

“I may have shouted.”

“Why were you in the stairwell?” Sam asks.

“I was going for a walk,” Josh says.

“But wh-”

“Enough,” CJ says. “Focus, Sam. What are we doing about this?”

“We need to find out who Mark is,” Sam says. “Find him, figure out his motives. Did he react?”

“He looked at me funny. I walked away,” Josh says.

“You said you ran away,” CJ says.

“Let me keep what little of my dignity is left.”

“Funny how?” Sam asks.

“Cold, I guess. Like he’d realized I was actually a bug or something.”

“I’m going to eviscerate him when I find him,” Toby says.

“I have to resign,” Josh says. “If he leaks it to the press, it’s over. The entire administration is screwed.”

“No,” Leo says. Josh looks at him in surprise. Leo hadn’t yet spoken or reacted to Josh’s story. “You’re not resigning.”

“Fine. The President can fire me. I don’t care,” Josh says. It’s a lie.  _ I think I’d rather die than be fired by President Bartlet. _

“No,” Leo repeats. “We’re standing by you. Anybody with a problem can take it up with me.”

Josh looks at the others. They nod in agreement. He finds himself blinking back tears.

“For now, we keep this silent. Nothing outside this room. Ainsley and the President will be informed next,” CJ says.

“What if we leak it preemptively?” Sam suggests.

“Oh, God, please don’t,” Josh says. “Maybe Mark was just surprised. Maybe he’s actually a good guy. Maybe he won’t leak it to the press.”  _ Maybe I need to stop babbling,  _ he thinks.

“Leaking it preemptively would be a good plan  _ if  _ we knew he was planning to leak it. But it’ll be the same stories, unless we’re smart about it,” CJ says. “And I don’t think any of us want the sensationalist crap they’re going to write.”

“CJ, boot up your computer. Let’s see if we can find out who this Mark is,” Sam says.

“How?”

“You have a directory of every employee here.”

CJ boots up the computer and opens the directory. “Okay, now what? There’s thousands of employees.”

“Search for the ones named Mark.”

The computer returns seventy results.

“Great. Now if you click the name, the picture pops up. Josh, tell us when one looks familiar.”

Josh watches the screen as they cycle through photos.

“Anything?” Sam asks.

“Not yet.”

They go through about half of the names before Josh recognizes one.

“That one! Wait, no - go back.”

CJ goes back and brings up the picture.

“That’s him,” Josh says. “Mark Cramer. Registered as a Republican. Says he works as an aide in the Office of Political Liaisons. I don’t even know what that means.”

“We’ll have to find out what he wants,” Sam says. “Send a secretary, maybe. A woman. Not you, Donna - you’re recognizable as Josh’s assistant. She’ll have to be subtle. Undercover mission levels of subtle.”

“Why a woman?” Leo asks.

“Men tend to underestimate young, pretty women,” Sam says. “Take it from me.”

“Ainsley,” CJ says. “She’s a Republican. He’ll think she’s on his side. She’s young and pretty.”

“Ainsley,” echoes Josh. “You should probably call her back in, then.”

CJ opens the door, and Ainsley quickly appears. She shuts the door behind her.

Sam points to the screen. “This guy has information about Josh. We need to know if he’s going to leak it to the press and what his motives are.”

“Okay,” Ainsley says. “What information? Like, blackmail stuff?”

“I’m gay,” Josh says.

“Oh. Really?”

Sam glares at Ainsley.

“I’m sorry,” she says quickly. “That was tactless of me. How long has he known, and why does he know?”

“Since last night, and he knows because I shouted it in a stairwell during an argument with him.”

“Josh, that is quite frankly the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard,” Ainsley says.

“It’s true.”

“I believe that. What do you want me to find out exactly, and how?”

“You need to be subtle. We don’t want him to know that we know who he is,” Sam says. “We need to know if he’s planning to leak it. And his motives.”

“Okay. What office?”

“Political Liaisons. He’s an aide.”

“I’m already going.” Ainsley stands up and leaves the room.

“Be subtle!” Sam calls after her.

“You already said that,” Ainsley calls back.

“Be subtle about what?” someone asks from outside the door.

“No, Danny,” CJ says. “You’re not allowed back here, come on.”

“Be subtle about what?” Danny asks.

“If it works, you’ll never know,” CJ says. “What do you want?”

“Just a quick quote about the Oregon flight and Notre Dame,” Danny says.

“Let it go, Danny.”

“You dissed Notre Dame, CJ. What, are you having a party in here?” Danny asks, glancing into the room. “Ooh, a senior staff meeting. Not at the usual time, and with Ainsley Hayes. Something happening?”

“Nothing you need to worry about,” Sam says. “We’re about done, actually. Come on, Josh, let’s go.” He walks out of the office. Josh follows, slightly bemused.

“I’ll speak to the President,” Leo says. “He’ll want to speak with you after.”

“Okay,” Josh says.

“We’ll be in my office,” Sam says, grabbing Josh’s arm. Josh lets himself be lead across the hall to Sam’s office.

Sam shuts the door, leaving them in silence.

“Are you okay?” Sam asks, leaning on his desk.

“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?” Josh asks.

“Because you just got outed to most of your coworkers without much say in the matter and if it were me, I would not be okay,” Sam says.

“If it were you,” Josh repeats.

“Yeah. I’m queer too. Bisexual.” Sam fiddles with his watch.

“Oh. I hadn’t realized.”

“I keep quiet about it. But I figured you’d want to know you weren’t alone here. Also, if worse comes to worse, I’ll come out too. Share the pressure, I guess.”

“Sam, I-I can’t ask you to do that.”

“I know. I’m doing it anyway. The President won’t fire you, but if he did he’d have to fire me too.”

“I don’t know anything about the - community, whatever,” Josh says. “I never got a chance.”

Sam nods. “Me neither.”

They sit in silence for a couple minutes.

“How do you think he’s going to react?” Josh asks quietly.

“Not badly. He’ll be surprised, for sure. I was,” Sam says. “Hey, how’d you get by the screening?”

“I lied,” Josh says. “Told them I didn’t have time for a girlfriend.”

“Same.”

“Why didn’t you have a girlfriend?”

Sam shrugs. “I lean towards men. There’ve been some girls, but honestly it’s never happened when I had time to go on a date.”

There’s a knock at the door.

“Come in,” Sam says.

It’s Ginger. “Leo says the President is ready to see Josh,” she says.

“Okay. Thanks, Ginger,” Josh says.

“I’ll go with you,” Sam says.

“Thanks,” Josh says.

They walk to the Oval Office. Mrs. Landingham waves them through with a smile.

President Bartlet and Leo are waiting for them.

“Josh. You brought Sam,” President Bartlet says.

“I’m moral support,” Sam offers.

“Okay,” President Bartlet says as they sit down. “Josh.”

“Yes, sir,” Josh says.

“That was a very stupid thing to do.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Be that as it may, I’m glad you told us about it. And I’m truly, deeply sorry that you’ve had to keep that hidden for so long.”

“That’s not your fault, sir.”

“Isn’t it? Couldn’t I be doing better?” President Bartlet says, shaking his head. “No, that’s not the topic of the day. Can you tell me what happened, in your words? Leo gave me the rundown.”

Josh recites the story again. “Before I ran, he looked at me like I was a bug or something. That was just before I called you, sir.”

“No wonder you sounded so shaken,” President Bartlet says. “And right now Ainsley is looking for this man? Mark?”

“Mark Cramer,” Sam says. “We told her to be subtle.”

“Leo, would you go find her? She should be back soon enough.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll send her in once she arrives,” Leo says.

“I’ll want you back in here as well,” President Bartlet says.

“Yes, sir.” Leo leaves.

Sam fidgets in his chair.

“Sam, is there something you’d like to mention?” President Bartlet asks.

“Yes, sir, if I may.”

“Go right ahead.”

“Sir, if the media comes down hard on this, they’ll demand that you fire Josh because he wasn’t open from the start. I want you to know that I serve at the pleasure of the President, but if you fire Josh for being gay, you’d better fire me too.”

President Bartlet looks at Sam over his glasses. “Sam, I seem to recall you used to date girls.”

“I’m bisexual. It happens.”

“Ah. Right. No, I won’t be firing either of you. No matter what the media says.”

“Sir, the fallout could be horrible. This administration could be destroyed,” Josh says. “I won’t have that because of me.”

“It won’t be destroyed. And even if it is, it’ll be my fault. No arguments,” President Bartlet says. “I’m putting the two of you in charge of the PR campaign.”

“The PR campaign?” Sam asks.

“How else should we change public opinion? You have a couple of months, by my wager,” he says.

“For the Marriage Recognition Act,” Josh says.

“Us?” Sam says.

“Who better? Who could possibly be more qualified?” President Bartlet says. “I’ll have Leo get you budget details.”

“Sir?” Josh asks.

“Yes, Josh?”

“Will you be changing your mind on the veto? My advice to you was biased.” Josh looks down.

“No. I value your opinion, biased or not. And I won’t sign that piece of paper, not if the entire country has me at gunpoint. So you’d better do a good job on the campaign,” President Bartlet says.

There’s a knock coming from Leo’s door.

“Come in,” calls President Bartlet.

Ainsley, Leo, CJ, and Toby enter.

“Ah, the gang’s all here. Are we all informed up to now?” President Bartlet asks.

“Yes, sir,” Toby answers. “Ainsley has news.”

Ainsley looks to the President.

“Go ahead. We’re all eager to hear it,” he says.

“Sir, I was able to find Mark Cramer. After some chatting, I discovered a few things. For a start, he’s openly homophobic to the point that I’m glad Josh was physically safe last night.”

Josh feels the blood drain from his face.  _ He might have - no, it’s over now - that was a stupid move, arguing with a homophobe. I know better. _

“In addition, he does intend to leak the information to the press. He’s leaving it until Monday after next.”

“What’s Monday after next?” Sam asks.

“The week after Thanksgiving. We’ll have gotten a small bump in approval ratings from the turkey pardoning,” Toby says. “He wants to bring us back down. The story will run until Christmas, at least.”

“We can’t take a month of negative press,” says Leo. “We’ll have to preempt it.”

“How? They’ll all run the same stories,” CJ says. “It doesn’t matter who breaks it.”

“What if we don’t leak it?” President Bartlet says. “What if Josh just shows up at a pride parade with a few conveniently placed photographers?”

There’s a moment of silence.

“That’s not a bad idea,” CJ muses. “It gives the impression that he’s not trying to hide.”

“I am definitely trying to hide,” Josh says. “If anybody would like my opinion.”

“Pride’s in June,” Sam says.

“Dammit,” Toby mutters. “Why can’t it be the week of Thanksgiving?”

“It’s the anniversary month of the Stonewall riots,” Sam says.

“Can we make our own pride parade? Maybe a march in support of the veto or marriage equality or something?” Leo suggests.

“Schedule it for Wednesday. That gives us time to prepare and most people will have the day off,” Toby says.

“CJ, do any press members owe you favors?” President Bartlet asks.

“A couple. What are you thinking?”

“Just a couple inches about a pride march for marriage equality being scheduled on Wednesday. It’ll end at the White House. I think that’ll go a long way, as long as it’s not on the back page,” President Bartlet says.

“I’ll see what I can do, sir.”

“Get on that right away.”

“Yes, sir.” CJ stands and leaves.

“Josh, are you okay with this plan?” President Bartlet asks. “You just said that you were trying to hide, but frankly that’s not much of an option at this point. Better to do it on your own terms, I think.”

“Yes, sir. I’m okay with it,” Josh says. He’s also terrified out of his mind, but that’s irrelevant. It’s the best plan available.

“Good.”

“I’ll go with you,” Sam says. “To the march.”

“Sam-”

“Excellent idea, Sam,” President Bartlet says. “Nothing too loud, understand? No wrapping yourselves in flags. Carry a small one, if you must.”

“Yes, sir,” Sam says.

“Wait, are you - I don’t know the right word,” Leo says. “You’d better talk first, or I’ll stick my foot in my mouth.”

“I’m bisexual. I like guys and girls. Mostly guys,” Sam says. “Queer also works, but that’s more of an in-term. Some people take offense.”

“Got it. Okay,” Leo says. “So you two show up at this march, get your pictures taken by a nice reporter, and saunter on home? Is that the plan?”

“Obviously there’ll be some fallout,” Sam says. “But this is the better option. We’ll probably have to do a short interview to clarify that we’re not just there as allies.”

“And this is not the time to fuck with the press,” Toby says. “No stunts. Keep it simple and low-key.”

“We will,” Josh says.

“Good,” says President Bartlet. “Sounds like a plan. In the meantime, Josh, lay low and make plans.”

“Yes, sir,” Josh says.

“You’re all dismissed.”

They stand and leave, each thanking President Bartlet as they go. Josh follows Sam back to his office.

“Have you ever gone?” Josh asks.

“Huh?”

“To pride,” Josh says.

“No. I assume you haven’t either.”

“No.”

“Our first pride, at the orders of the President,” Sam says with a laugh, and that’s for some reason really fucking funny to Josh, so he starts laughing too.

“How ridiculous is my life,” Josh wheezes. “God.”

“I know,” Sam says, struggling to catch his breath. “This is the strangest situation I’ve ever been in.”

They calm down after a few minutes.

“Thank you for going with me, though,” Josh says. “I don’t think I could manage it alone.”

“I’m glad to go with you,” Sam says. “Besides, what kind of a friend would I be if I let you go alone to a strange event with lots of loud people?”

“I’d probably have a panic attack and die,” Josh says. “Sorry, Mr. President, the photos are all of me curled up in a corner hyperventilating.”

Someone knocks on the door. Josh and Sam each take a deep breath.

“Come in,” Sam says.

It’s Ainsley.

“Hi. I thought I might find you two here,” Ainsley says. “Josh, I would like to apologize for earlier, when I said ‘really?’ in that tone of voice. It was inappropriate and cruel.”

“Apology accepted,” Josh says. “Hey, how’d you get Cramer to spill?”

“A girl’s gotta have some secrets, Josh,” Ainsley says. “I know I’m a Republican, but I want you to know that I’m not a homophobe. And I am currently reevaluating my stance on same-sex marriage.”

“Careful, Ainsley. We might turn you into a liberal,” Sam teases.

“Not likely, if they all argue like you,” Ainsley shoots back. “Anyways, let me know if I can do anything else to help.”

“We will,” Josh says. “Thank you.”

“Have a good evening.”

“You too.”

Ainsley leaves.

“Okay,” Sam says. “We’d better start on the PR stuff. What are you thinking?”

“I’m not.”

“Fair. I’m thinking a series of video ads, in an interview style. Get the few elders we can find, have them talk about their long-lost lovers and such. All real stories. Get some young kids in love, throw them on camera. Have a pastor talking about how much he’d love to let the gay couples get married, maybe.”

“That sounds good. What if we go on camera too? I mean, after the pride parade mess dies down.”

“Good idea. Are you ready for that level of publicity?” Sam asks.

“No, but I might be by the time we get around to filming it,” Josh says.

“Okay. I think each ad should end with a call to action - write to your representative or something.”

“What about the transgender community? I mean, should we be including them in this?” Josh asks. “It doesn’t seem right to leave them in the dust.”

“It leaves a bad taste in my mouth,” Sam agrees. “But for the next couple months, the focus needs to be marriage. After that, we can cast a wider net. No harm in including transgender people in the videos, though.”

“Sounds good to me.”

The next three days fly by in a blur. CJ manages to get a couple articles in the main papers, and Donna makes anonymous posts online. They have no way of knowing how many people intend to show up to the march.

Before Josh knows it, it’s Wednesday morning. The march is scheduled to start at 11 at the Lincoln Memorial. (It’s a rather short march, he supposes, but that’s okay.)

He wears a normal work shirt and an overcoat, unsure of how he’s supposed to dress for pride. His doorbell rings at 10:30.

Sam’s there, wearing a black suit. His eyes seem brighter blue than usual. “Hey, are you ready to go?” he asks.

“Huh? Yeah, I’m ready. Let me grab my wallet,” Josh says. He retrieves it and follows Sam downstairs to the waiting taxi.

“Lincoln Memorial, please,” Sam tells the driver.

The drive’s not long, even in the mid-morning traffic.

“Josh?” Sam says, shutting the glass screen between the front and back of the cab.

“Yeah?”

“I may have forgotten to ask you this, but it’s sort of important. Probably. Is your mother alive and if so, does she ever watch the news?” Sam asks.

“Oh, shit,” Josh says.

“Call her. Now, come on, get your phone out,” Sam says. “We’ve got a couple minutes until we get there.”

Josh fumbles with his phone and dials her number.

“What do I  _ say? _ ” he says, looking at Sam.

The phone rings once.

“I don’t know,” Sam says. “Uh, sorry I never came out to you but it’s about to be on the news?”

“That’s terrible! How’d you do it?”

“I didn’t! They just kind of knew!”

The phone rings again.

“Try, uh,” Sam says, “Just saying it? Like, say you have something to tell her and just say it.”

“Oh, God,” Josh says, and then his mother picks up the phone.

“Lyman household,” she answers. “Claire speaking.”

“Hi, Mom. It’s Josh,” he says.

“Oh, Josh! How are you, darling?”

“I’m doing good. Hey, I, uh, have something to tell you.”

“What is it, dear?”

Josh freezes. Sam makes  _ go-on _ motions at him.

“Josh?” his mother asks.

“Yeah, I’m here. Sorry. Um, I’m gay. I like guys.”

There’s a moment of silence.

“Is that it?” his mother asks, and Josh hears the kindness in her voice and relief floods over him. “Oh, darling, thank you for telling me. Do you have a boyfriend?”

“No, I don’t have a boyfriend. I work at the White House, I have no time for a boyfriend.”

Sam starts laughing.

“Is that him in the background?” his mother asks. “Can I meet him? Is he cute?”

“No, Mom, that’s Sam. He’s not my boyfriend.”

“Okay, sorry. Your...partner?  _ Fiancé? _ ” Her voice is rising in excitement.

“No, Mom, he’s not my fiancé!” Sam doubles over with laughter.

“If you say so, dear. What are you up to this morning? I was hoping you might come home for Thanksgiving.”

“I’m going to be working. Sorry, Mom. I’d come if I could,” Josh says.

“Surely they can do without you for a day.”

“I don’t know, I do an awful lot for them.”

“What are you doing this morning, anyway? Shouldn’t you be at work?”

“I’m actually working. In an unconventional way. I’m going to a march in support of same-sex marriage on orders from the President.”

“Oh! Are you going to be on the news?” In the background, he hears her fiddling with the television.

“I probably will be. Give it half an hour or so.”

The taxi pulls up to the sidewalk at the Lincoln Memorial.

“I’ll watch for you!” his mother says enthusiastically. She’s got a news channel on; they’re giving a weather report.

“Okay, Mom. I have to go. Have a good day,” he says.

“I love you, Josh.”

“Love you too.”

Josh hangs up.

“Nicely done,” Sam says. “You ready for this?”

“No,” Josh says, but he pays the driver and gets out of the taxi anyway.

There’s a couple hundred people gathered around the memorial, with more cars than he’s ever seen there before. Some of them are either carrying or wrapped in pride flags - there’s so many patterns and designs that Josh doesn’t know where to look. Most of them have homemade signs: “BARTLET FOR LGBTQ AMERICANS?” and “OUR LOVE IS EQUAL” seemed to be popular choices, along with simple equal signs painted in blue and yellow.

Josh and Sam walk over to the center of the event, where people are clustered in a large group.

“Hey, you guys want flags or signs?” someone asks them. They’re androgynous, with bright pink hair and a denim jacket with dozens of pins and patches.

“Um, sure,” Sam says. “Flags, please.”

The person produces a tin of small flags in several varieties. Sam picks out two - a rainbow flag (Josh recognizes that one, at least) and a blue, pink, and purple flag - and thanks them.

“No problem, man. First pride?” they ask.

Josh nods.

“You’ll have fun. Just go with the flow.”

Sam hands Josh the rainbow flag.

“What do I do with it?” Josh asks.

“Just hold it. Wave it if that’s what everyone else is doing.”

Josh holds the flag in one hand and crosses his arms, looking around more closely. Of course, nobody he recognizes is there. But there’s also no reporters.  _ Maybe they’re all waiting at the White House...that’d make a dramatic shot. _

At 10:45, the group moves in closer to the memorial, and somebody climbs up one one of Lincoln’s feet with a microphone. She’s wearing a flag like a cape. It’s pastel blue, pink, and white.  _ Transgender, maybe?  _ Josh wonders. He’d probably better learn what the flags mean soon. She turns the microphone on, lets the feedback die down, and begins speaking.

“Hey, everybody! Welcome to the march for marriage equality. This was a pretty last minute thing and apparently we don’t know who organized it, but for something with two days of warning we have an excellent turnout,” she says. “I’m Penny Wesley, and if nobody has any objections, I’ll be going over some standard pride guidelines.”

There’s a few groans, but nobody objects.

“First - please don’t damage anything or leave trash behind you. Second - don’t scale the White House fence, you’ll get shot. And third - have fun and be safe.”

A short cheer goes up at that.

“There’s no crosswalks between here and the White House, so no worries on that front. Do we have anyone here who would like to sing the National Anthem? We don’t have our own flag, but I don’t think Mr. Lincoln will mind if we just salute one of his.”

That gets a bit of laughter from the crowd. Somebody volunteers to sing, and they all listen to the anthem.

“Okay, let’s get started! We’ve got a very enthusiastic group of folks leading the march with their instruments, so just follow the sound of the drums and tubas. Pardon me, I believe I meant sousaphones. Sorry, sousaphone players.”

A beat starts up and Josh follows Sam toward the front of the march, staying close so they don’t get separated in the crowd.

“We should be at the front if we want to be photographed,” Sam says. “But not in the middle of the crowd.”

“Okay,” Josh says.

After a couple hundred feet, the line evens out until people are mostly walking in small groups and pairs. They’re still toward the front of the march.

A light flashes behind Josh. He blinks, startled, and turns to see the camera.

It’s in the hands of a young teenager. She’s got her hair cut in a short afro and is wearing an eye-searing outfit composed entirely of rainbow fabric.

“Hi,” Josh says.

“Sorry,” the teenager says, stepping up beside Josh. “I was trying to test the exposure comp, but I forgot the flash was on. I wasn’t meaning to take your picture or anything.”

“Is that a digital camera?” Josh asks.

“Yeah, it’s one of the new models. Pretty sweet. My uncle works for the company,” she says. “Hey, what’s your name?”

“I’m Josh Lyman.” Josh barely stops himself from adding  _ I’m the deputy chief of staff. _

“I’m Jacey. My friends call me Jace. Who’s your boyfriend?”

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

“Sorry. Who’s your friend?”

“His name’s Sam Seaborn.”

Jacey frowns. “You look familiar. You both look familiar, actually, but mostly you.”

“We work at the White House,” Sam says.

“You do? Tight. Are you in with the big man?”

“His name is President Bartlet, and yeah. We’re in with him,” Josh says.

“ _ Wicked. _ Wait, aren’t you that guy who got shot by the triple K?”

“Yeah, that’s him,” Sam says when Josh declines to answer. “I’m the guy who got decimated by a Republican on live TV.”

“Oh, yeah. I heard about that. The real pretty girl?” Jacey asks.

“Yes.”

“Is she available?”

“What are you, twelve?” Josh asks.

“I am _ fifteen _ .”

“She’s twenty-nine and a Republican,” Sam says.

Jacey shrugs. “A girl can dream. Hey, is this the first time people from the White House have showed up at pride?”

Sam looks at Josh. Josh shrugs.

“Probably,” Sam says. “That’s gonna make the news blow up even more, Josh.”

“Lovely. Exactly what we want.”

“Hey, at least Cramer won’t have anything left by the time he realizes we outplayed him.”

“What are you  _ talking  _ about?” Jacey asks. “Is this some sort of political conspiracy?”

“It’s more like I f- _ messed  _ up and this is the only way to unmess it up before I accidentally break the entire administration,” Josh says.

“You can say fuck,” Jacey says, completely calm. “I’ve heard worse.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Wait, so you guys are going to be on the news? Like on camera?”

“Seems likely,” Sam says. “If we’re not, then we’re screwed.”

“Hey, if I stick with you guys, can  _ I  _ be on camera?” Jacey asks enthusiastically.

“Sure,” Josh says. “Why not.”

“ _ Sweet _ ,” Jacey says.

“It’s safe for everyone you know to see you on TV here, right?” Sam asks.

“Oh, yeah. They all know. I got a girlfriend, too, but her family took her to Kansas for Thanksgiving. She’d rather stay here, but she’s only 15 so she can’t be home alone for that long,” Jacey says. “I mean, I think she’d be okay. She’s got me. My family could have her over. But her family’s all about meeting distant relatives for uncomfortable meals, I guess.”

_ She’s pretty chatty. Are all teenagers this chatty?  _ Josh wonders. “Some families are like that,” he says.

“What’s yours like? If you don’t mind me askin’.”

“It’s, uh, really just me and my Mom. My father passed away last March. She’d like me to visit for holidays, but the White House keeps me busy. We’re our own little family, I guess, the senior staff. We argue like one, anyway,” Josh says.  _ Why am I talking about this with a 15 year old I just met? _

“That’s cool, I guess. Sorry about your dad.”

“Thanks.”

“I have three little siblings, and they  _ all  _ hate being quiet. Me, I gotta do my schoolwork, so I’m okay with quiet. I like quiet. They just always scream and chase each other around.”

“How old?”

“Two of ‘em are eight and the other’s ten. The twins are Erika and Krissy, and the ten year old’s Zach. Hey, listen!”

The drumbeat has changed. Josh hears the beginnings of a chant.

“Black, white, gay, straight - love does not discriminate!” shouts Jacey, who apparently already knows the deal. Josh shares a look with Sam and joins in hesitantly, adding his voice to a rising chorus. They’re almost to the Washington Monument now.

The chant rises into the morning air, echoing off the reflection pond and causing a flock of ducks to take off. For a moment - just a moment - Josh feels like he  _ belongs. _

_ These are my people,  _ he thinks, testing the thought out.  _ I’m standing with them. _

“It’s a good feeling, isn’t it?” Sam says, looking at him. “I feel it too.”

Josh nods.

“You never been around the community before?” Jacey asks, taking a brief break from her chant.

“No.”

“It’s the  _ best. _ Hey, hey, ho, ho, homophobia’s got to go!” she shouts, matching the new chant.

There’s a huge variety of chants. The shouts are continuous as they turn to march on the White House.

The first wave of reporters is at the Washington Monument. None of them are White House reporters, of course. Josh doesn’t make eye contact with them, but one flashbulb goes off - then another - and a whole storm. There’s a clamor of questions. Sam puts his hand on Josh’s back, and they keep walking. Eventually the reporters fall back.

“Whoa,” Jacey says. “They recognized you.”

“Reporters tend to do that, unfortunately,” Josh says. “The next wave’ll be worse, but that’ll be video instead of flash at least.”

“Head held high, Josh,” Sam reminds him. “Maybe stop frowning.”

Josh puts a smile on his face. It takes effort.

“Okay, not like that. That’s worse,” Jacey says. “Come on, live a little!”

“Kid, I was honestly not intending on  _ ever  _ coming out. This is a bit terrifying,” Josh says.

“Okay, so make it less terrifying. Come on, put your flag up. I’ll fly mine too.” Jacey produces a pink-shaded flag seemingly out of nowhere. It’s got a lipstick mark on it.

“What flag’s that?” Josh asks.

“Lipstick lesbian. Can’t you tell? I like feeling pretty and kissing girls. Come on, put it up.”

Feeling a bit silly, Josh holds his flag out in front of him. Sam does the same beside him. Jacey dances in front of them, spinning in circles.

She looks so happy - so  _ hopeful  _ \- that Josh can’t hold back a genuine smile.  _ We’re going to do it. We’re going to stop the marriage recognition act, and after that we’re going to bring marriage equality to the whole country. _

It won’t be easy. Nothing worth it ever is. But there’s a reason Josh is a senior staffer for the President. He signed up for  _ hard _ . He signed up for  _ impossible _ , and he pulled it off.

“There’s a smile!” Jacey says. “Come on, we’re almost there.”

Josh glances over at Sam, who’s already looking at him with an expression Josh can’t pinpoint except as in the range of surprised. His mouth’s hanging slightly open, and the instant he realizes Josh is looking at him, he blinks and looks toward the White House.

There’s already reporters waiting for them with cameras ready. Josh recognizes most of them. Danny’s there, and a lot of others from the pressroom. He’s looking at Josh with an expression of…respect? But the sort of respect one might have for a raw piece of meat that would make an excellent headline.

That metaphor didn’t make sense at all, which probably explains why Josh isn’t a speechwriter.

“You ready to be on TV?” Josh asks Jacey.

“Hell yes!” She goes back to walking next to them, flag still held high.

They reach the White House. The chants continue, louder than ever. The march seems to have gained more people than it had started with.

“Josh! Sam!” shouts a reporter, holding out a microphone. “Why are you marching here today?”

“We’re marching in support of marriage equality,” Sam says. “Just like everyone else here.”

“Does this have anything to do with the President’s decision to veto the Marriage Recognition Act?” another reporter asks.

“Yes. It’s time to fight for what’s right,” Sam says.

“What about the fact that the majority of Americans wanted the bill passed?”

_ Careful.  _ “We think that the majority of Americans, given the chance, will change their minds on this issue,” Josh says.  _ That’s not insulting, right? I think that was pretty good. _

“So you’re saying that the majority of Americans are wrong?” Danny asks.  _ Dammit! I should have known he was going to pull something. _

“No, that’s not what I sa - I didn’t say that, you’re putting words in my mouth,” Josh says.

“Sam, are you a homosexual?” a reporter asks.

“I’m bisexual, actually,” Sam says, giving his flag a little wave.

“Josh?”

“I - yes. I’m gay,” he says.

“Josh! Are you and Sam in a relationship?” Danny asks.

“No,” Josh and Sam say at the same time.

“Hey, why aren’t you asking me questions? I’m like, ten times cuter than either of them,” Jacey says. “ _ And  _ I have a girlfriend.”

She’s ignored by the reporters.

“Does the President know?”

“He’s aware that we planned to march today, yes,” Sam says.

“Is he concerned?”

“What about?” Josh asks, glancing at Sam.

_ Time to go _ , Sam mouths at Josh. “No more questions.”

The reporters all clamor in protest, all trying to get just one more question in.

Josh and Sam work their way back into the crowd. A minute later, Jacey catches up.

“Hey, that was wild,” she says. “All those questions! They must really think you’re a story.”

“Yeah,” Josh says, breathing hard. “Hey, do you want to help us out with changing the minds of the majority of Americans?”

She gives him a look. “Depends. What do I have to do?”

“Talk into a camera about how much you love your girlfriend.”

“Done.”

“Here’s my business card,” Josh says. “Give my office a call sometime soon, and we’ll find a time for you to come in to discuss specifics.”

Jacey tucks the card into her pocket and nods. “I’ll do that.”

“We should get back to the west wing,” Sam says. “Josh, you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Josh says. He’s not exactly sure if that’s true, but it’s the answer he has, so it’ll have to do.

“Jacey, nice meeting you,” Sam says. “Josh, come on. We can avoid them if we go around the back.”

Josh follows Sam through the crowd and around the White House until they reach the entrance gate.

The security guard gives them a look. Josh realizes he’s still holding the pride flag and sticks it inside his coat.

They check in and enter the building. They almost make it to the bullpen before the shouting starts.

“Josh! Sam!” CJ calls above the clamor. “My office, now.”

They manage to get into CJ’s office without answering anyone else’s questions. She shuts the door, leaving them in silence.

Her TV’s running on mute. Josh sees a picture of himself holding the little rainbow flag, Sam beside him, captioned “HOMOSEXUAL WHITE HOUSE SCANDAL?” CJ shuts it off.

“You did good,” she tells them. “I wish you hadn’t answered questions.”

“Sorry,” Josh says. “They were waiting for us.”

“I know. I hope you’re both ready for the worst week of your lives,” CJ says. “There’ll be stories. Not as bad as if Cramer had leaked it, but they’ll be there.”

Josh nods.

“I have a briefing in 20 minutes. They’re going to ask questions. I’m going to write them down and ask you so I can get back to them with good answers. I’d normally just answer myself, but I’m sure they’ll come up with the worst possible questions. I’ll try to keep them on real news topics, but you know them.”

“Yeah,” Sam says. “Speaking of, one of them asked if the President was concerned.”

“I saw that. Walking away was a good choice,” CJ says. “I’m sure I’ll hear more about it.”

“Do you have any idea what he meant?” Josh asks.

“I have theories, but nothing solid,” CJ says. “Don’t worry about it. Sam, Toby wants you to work on a speech.”

“Okay. I’ll be in my office if you need me,” Sam says. He leaves, and Danny slips into the room.

“No,” CJ says. “Get out.”

“Just one question,” Danny says. “Off the record. You look amazing today, CJ.”

“Thank you, and it depends on the question.”

“It’s for Josh. Why now?”

“Why now,” Josh repeats. “It was…time?” It’s a terrible lie, and he knows it.

“Off the record, Josh,” Danny says.

“ _ Off the record _ off the record?” Josh checks.

“ _ Off the record _ off the record. Just me and my curiosity,” Danny says, holding up his empty hands as a gesture of peace.

“An aide found out and was going to leak it next Monday,” Josh says. “This way was less damage, according to CJ.”

“She’s right,” Danny says. “Even leaking it yourself would have been much worse than this.”

“Okay. That’s enough. Get out, before I sic the Secret Service on you,” CJ says.

“Fair enough,” Danny says, and he leaves with a wink.

“He’s disturbing,” Josh mutters.

“Yes,” CJ agrees, though she sounds a bit too fond for him to believe her.

“Press conference?” he prompts her.

“Oh. Yes, right, press conference. I’m going now. Try to get something done. I’m sure Donna has a list,” CJ says. She grabs her briefing clipboard and leaves, Josh close behind.

Josh returns to his office. Somebody must have yelled at them, because the people in the bullpen are no longer asking him questions. From the way they’re avoiding eye contact with him and even each other, he suspects it was Toby.

“Donna!” he yells. She appears in the office doorway.

“Hi, Josh,” she says. “How was your morning?”

“Lovely, thank you. Do we have anything that I can do in under 15 minutes?” he asks.

“The governor of Alaska needs a call,” Donna says.

“Why do I care about the governor of Alaska?”

“Because he’s claiming that the government is going to drain the oil reserves in a wildlife refuge.”

“Are we?”

“I don’t think so. You might have to check with somebody on that, though.”

“I’m checking with you. Find out in five minutes. I’ll be on the phone with him,” Josh says.

“Okay. I left his number on your desk.”

“Why were you in my office?” he asks.

“To leave the governor of Alaska’s phone number on your desk,” she says innocently.

“Donna!”

“I’m going to go find out about it,” she says.

Josh sits in his desk chair and picks up the phone. Donna’s left a post-it on the desk that has a phone number. It says “gubernatorial Aslan,” but he figures that probably translates to governor of Alaska.

He dials the number and goes through the channels to actually speak to the governor.

“Bruce Wilkenstein speaking, how may I help you?” His voice is slow and deep. Josh doesn’t think he’s ever met him or even seen a picture, but that doesn’t stop an image of a seasoned woodsman from popping into his head.

“Hi. This is Josh Lyman from the White House. How’re you doing?” Josh asks.

“Oh, I’m doing okay. Do you know you’re on the news?”

“Yes, I do know that. I heard you were concerned about oil drilling in a wildlife refuge?”

“I am  _ very  _ concerned about oil drilling in our wildlife refuges,” Wilkenstein says.

“What refuge specifically?” Josh asks.

“All of ‘em. Oil companies want in, and they’re paying senators enough that they might  _ get  _ in.”

“What would you like to be done about that?”

“Well-” He laughs. “I’d like oil companies to not be paying senators, but barring that, I’d like the refuges to be protected from drilling and fracking under federal law.”

“How many acres are we talking about, here?”

“Roundabouts 75 million,” Wilkenstein says. “All managed by F and G, but I want better protection than those hippies.”

“Seventy-five million acres,” Josh says, doing frantic math in his head. “That’s...one-fifth of the entire state.”

“It’s quite a bit,” Wilkenstein agrees. “But it’s all very important to the ecosystem. We’re protected from coal mining and mountaintop removal, but we need protection from big oil.”

“What does the White House gain from protecting the wildlife refuges?”

“The knowledge that you’re not contributing to the death of one of America’s last wildernesses. And that you’re helping out a faithful democrat.”

Donna enters the room and shoves a piece of paper at Josh. He takes it and sets it down.

_ Wildlife refuges already protected. AGRS-201.b _

Josh has no idea what the last bit means, but it’s good news at least.

“Governor, I’ve just gotten verification that wildlife refuges are already protected from oil drilling. If it would set your mind at rest, I can have someone fax you the specifics.”

“Well, that’s just great news. Thank you, Mr. Lyman. You work faster than most other folks in Washington could dream of doing.”

“No problem, Governor. Have a good day.”

“You too, sonny.”

Wilkenstein hangs up, leaving Josh alone with Donna.

“Fax him the actual law, will you?” Josh says. “And I have no idea what this means.” He points at the last word on the paper.

“It means that that’s the law. I made a system based on subject and line.” She sounds pretty proud.

“Donna, you can’t just reorganize the laws of the United States.”

Donna considers that and apparently doesn’t find the point worth arguing. “I watched the press briefing.”

“How’d it go?”

“You’re going to have a lot of questions to answer. CJ won’t let you on the podium, though. Not after last time. The press bought that excuse pretty easily,” she says.

“Yeah, I remember last time. I don’t think it’s an excuse, I think it’s actually the truth,” Josh says. He is, after all, permanently banned from the press room.

Donna shrugs. “I think she’s trying to protect you and Sam. Some of the questions were kind of nasty.”

“Like what?” Josh asks.

“I don’t want to make you feel bad,” Donna protests.

“I’m going to hear it anyway. I’ll watch the briefing if I need to,” Josh says.  _ Better to know now than be taken by surprise later. _

“Okay. A lot of them were asking if the President was going to fire you for lying when you got onto the campaign.”

“I didn’t lie. Technically. I said I didn’t have time for a girlfriend,” Josh says.

“I don’t think they appreciate the distinction,” Donna says.

“What else?”

“They were implying that your advice to the President has been biased and that everything with you involved should be reviewed and that you shouldn’t be allowed to be a senior staffer. Which I consider very wrong, because you’re a good person and everybody is biased anyway.”

Josh nods. He’d been expecting something like that to come up.

CJ appears in the doorway.

“CJ,” Josh says, glad for a distraction.

“Josh. I have some questions for you,” CJ says. Her hair’s gotten a bit wild since before she went to the press conference, and she looks exhausted. “Donna, could you give us the room?”

“Sure.” Donna leaves, shutting the door behind her.

“Fire away,” Josh says when CJ is silent.

“Chris wants to know if your parents know,” she says, clicking her pen.

“My mother knows. My father’s dead, so….”

“How long has she known?”

Josh checks his watch. “Two hours.”

“Josh!”

“I had to tell her before she saw it on TV, didn’t I?”

“Fine. I’ll have someone contact her and tell her not to talk to reporters. Danny wants details about the girl who you walked with this morning.”

“He could have asked her himself. She’d have been happy to be on TV,” Josh says.

“Oh, he did. He got a very nice quote from her, in fact.”

“He did? When?”

“Just after you two walked away. She stayed behind for a bit. You should watch the footage, it’s pretty good.”

“I’d rather not,” Josh mutters.

“Watch the part with her in it,” CJ says. “Seriously.”

“Fine. Why does he want details from me?” Josh asks.

“I don’t know. I’ll cross it off. Sheryl would like to know if you are currently dating anyone.”

“I work in the White House. I don’t have time to date anyone.”

“Nicely said.”

“Hey, what about that bit with the President being concerned? What was that about?”

“I’m taking care of that. It’s honestly nothing to worry about,” CJ says.

They go through questions, some considerably more offensive than others, for nearly half an hour. Finally, CJ sets down her pen.

“That’s you done. I’m off to Sam’s office. I promised I’d be back with the press within an hour.”

“Great,” Josh says. “Good luck.”

When she’s gone, he turns on the TV. They’re playing footage from the march. He turns on the audio.

“-in a surprising turn of events, two senior White House staff members were seen marching and carrying pride flags. Deputy Chief of Staff Joshua Lyman and Deputy Communications Director Samuel Seaborn, shown here, said they were marching in support of same-sex marriage. One teenager who walked with them during the march is interviewed here.”

The screen cuts to video footage of Jacey in her rainbow outfit. Josh and Sam are visible in the background, hurrying into the crowd.

“I think they’re being really brave,” she says. “I haven’t known them for long, but I know they’re both good people trying to make a difference in the world.”

“Do you think they should be allowed to continue working in the White House?” a reporter asks, offscreen. Jacey turns to face him, slightly angled to the camera.

“Of course I do. Why the hell should it make a difference if a person wants to date boys or girls or both or neither? They do their jobs well, and that’s what matters.”

The interview ends. Josh shuts off the TV and stares at the blank screen for a minute.  _ What have I done to earn loyalty like that? Especially from someone I just met this morning? _

The afternoon flies by. Josh ignores the news and tries not to think about what sort of articles will be published the next day.

Around dinner, Leo shows up in his office.

“Hey, kid,” he says, tossing a sandwich at Josh. He fumbles it and ends up picking it up from the floor.

“Hey, Leo,” he says. “What’s going on?”

“Not much.” Leo sits down in a chair and unwraps his sandwich. Josh does the same and takes a bite. It’s strangely delicious for a prepackaged corner store sandwich.

Oh. He’d forgotten lunch.

That explains it.

“I saw in the press interview that your mom knows,” Leo says.

“Yeah. I called her this morning.”

“Smart of you. I don’t think finding out from the news is the best way to go.”

“Yeah.”

“Did your father ever know?”

“No. I never told him. Never really felt the need to, since I was in politics and - well, you know.”

“Yeah.” Leo studies him for a moment, eyes soft. “He’d be proud of you, you know. Of what you did today. I know I am.”

Josh looks down. “Thank you, Leo.”

“I mean it,” Leo says. “I knew him well. Come on, eat your sandwich. You’ll need your strength for tomorrow.”

“I know. I’m not looking at any newspapers,” Josh says.

“Excellent plan. You’ll have heard all about it from Donna by noon, anyway,” Leo says with a grin. “And Toby’ll be calling their editors, no doubt.”

“I’m sure he will. I don’t envy them,” Josh says.

“Neither do I. Hey, do you have plans for tomorrow?”

“I don’t know. I think Sam, Toby and I were going to figure something out. Football, probably.”

“If you don’t have anything, fly up to New Hampshire with the first family and I. It’ll be fun.”

“I really don’t want to listen to the history of the yam in Latin, Leo.”

“Fair enough. Did you deal with the governor of Alaska?”

“Yeah, I sent him a copy of the law protecting wildlife refuges.”

“Good. The President wants you working on your PR campaign as soon as possible, at least a couple hours a day.”

“I will. Thanks, Leo.”

“No problem, Josh.” Leo stands up, having finished his sandwich. Just then, Donna knocks twice and then opens the door without waiting for a response. Leo slips out.

“Josh?” she says.

“What is it?” Josh asks.

“The governor of California’s on line 2. He said something about a Chinese cargo boat. It’s urgent.”

Josh picks up the phone. “Thanks, Donna.” He hits line 2.

“This is Josh Lyman. How can I help you, governor?”


	2. Daybreak: December 24, 2000

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Two: Josh and Sam spend Christmas Day together. (Picks up where Noёl left off.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternate chapter title: "The author had this whole thing planned where they visited Josh's mom for Christmas but then they remembered that Josh is Jewish and also Noёl takes place on Christmas Eve"
> 
> TW for: brief discussions of self-harm (the window), discussion of parental homophobia, queer used as neutral/positive self descriptor, very brief mention of suicide (not serious), hospitals/doctors, alcohol, and a minor flashback (PTSD). Again, if you have concerns please drop me a comment and I'll be happy to go into detail.
> 
> This chapter is a bit shorter than the last one, but I'm pretty happy with it. Enjoy!

 

The doctors here are gentle. Kind.

They give him understanding looks. Josh doesn’t like that, because how could they understand?

It’s not like they’d been shot.

Josh lets them x-ray his hand, pick out tiny fragments of glass that he’d missed, disinfect it, and wrap an excessive amount of bandages around it. Under Donna’s watchful gaze, he promises to take the antibiotics they prescribe and return if it gets infected.

Finally, they let him go home. Donna insists that they fill the prescription first, which takes twenty minutes in the hospital lobby.

“Okay,” she says, once she’s gotten the paper bag with the medicine. “Let’s take you home.”

“I’m not a lost kid, Donna,” Josh says.

“I know you’re not,” she says. They get a taxi to Josh’s apartment building. He hands a five dollar bill to the taxi driver and gets out of the car, fumbling to open the door with his bandaged hand.

“Will you be okay home alone?” Donna asks.

“I’ll be fine, Donna,” he says.

“On Christmas Eve?” she presses.

“I’m Jewish, Donna.”

“I know that. It’s still a holiday, and people shouldn’t be alone for holidays.”

“I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about it. I’ll see you on Tuesday,” Josh says.

Being himself, President Bartlet had ordered his senior staff to take Christmas Day off, with the caveat that if there was a national emergency they should be accessible by phone or pager. CJ had flown out to visit her parents the previous day, and Josh is pretty sure Sam had done the same.

“Okay,” Donna says. “Leave your pager on.”

“You can’t turn pagers off.”

“You can if you break them.”

“I’m not going to break my pager, Donna. Have a good Christmas.”

“You too,” she says. The taxi pulls away, and Josh turns around.

He makes it up the stairs with effort. He’s more exhausted than he’s been in months - all from one little therapy session and a short visit to the hospital.

“Josh?”

“What?” Josh says loudly, turning around. “Wh-Sam? What are you doing here?”

Sam’s leaning against the wall by his apartment door.

“I figured you shouldn’t be alone tonight,” Sam says.

“I’m not going to kill myself if you leave me alone for one night,” Josh says, annoyed. “Didn’t you go to California?”

“No.”

“Why not?” Josh asks.

Sam pauses. “Never mind that. Can we go inside?”

Josh gets out his key and unlocks the door. “Come on in.”

Sam follows him into the apartment. Josh flips the lights on.

At some point during the day, the superintendent had replaced the window and removed the glass shards from the floor. Josh is pretty sure he’s going to get billed for that, but he can’t bring himself to care.

“You want a drink?” he asks Sam.

Sam hesitates. “Sure.”

Josh pours them each a couple fingers of brandy - he’s almost out - and hands Sam his glass. Josh sits in his chair. Sam sits on the couch across from him.

“So, how’d your thing go?” Sam asks. “With ATVA.”

Josh shrugs. “I have a debilitating fear of rectangles, apparently.” The joke falls flat.

“You’re going to be okay, though. Right?” Sam asks, and Josh sees the concern in his eyes. Suddenly, Sam looks young. Young and afraid.

_ Your friends have been concerned about your behavior,  _ Stanley had said.  _ For some time now. _

Josh had snapped at Sam a few days ago for wanting to talk about an issue with the oil reserve. Sam hadn’t deserved that.

“I’m sorry for yelling at you. On the nineteenth,” Josh says, taking a drink. The brandy burns on the way down. “And for the thing in the Oval Office. And any other times I might have yelled in the last month. I need to stop doing that. Yelling. And breaking windows. At least, that’s what the ATVA guy said.”

“That’s how you cut your hand?”

“Yeah.”

They sit in silence for a while, sipping their drinks. Josh splits the last of the brandy between them and sets the empty bottle in the trash can.

“Sam?” Josh asks sometime after the glass is empty. It occurs to him that he hasn’t eaten in hours, and he was a lightweight to begin with.

“Yeah, Josh?” Sam asks.

“Why didn’t you go home for Christmas?”

“Ask me again when we’re both sober,” Sam says after a minute.

“Oh. You too? I was worried that was just me.”

“I haven’t eaten since lunch.”

“You should eat more,” Josh says.

“So should you,” Sam says.

“How did you know I haven’t eaten?” Josh asks, looking at him.

“You’re drunk,” Sam says with the air of a great detective.

“I’m a lightweight. I have a delicate system,” Josh says.

“Not that lightweight,” Sam says. “I should go home, probably.” He’s pretty drunk, judging by the way he’s carefully enunciating his words and slurring them anyway.

“There’s no taxis this late,” Josh says. “It’s like, one am. I guess it’s Christmas now.”

“Oh. It is Christmas,” Sam says. “Do they have taxis on Christmas?”

“I guess so. People have to go places and stuff.”

A few minutes of silence pass.

“I should go,” Sam says again.

“You can stay,” Josh says. “It’s Christmas. Donna says people shouldn’t be alone on Christmas.”

Sam doesn’t say anything. Josh looks at him again. His eyes are closed.

“Oh,” Josh says. “You’re asleep. Were you sleep-talking?”

Being asleep, Sam doesn’t respond.

Josh manages to stand up and nudge Sam until he’s properly lying down on the couch. He throws a spare blanket over Sam and gets another for himself before settling into his chair again.

He closes his eyes and goes to sleep.

The next morning, he wakes up to the smell of coffee.

Without opening his eyes, Josh sniffs and confirms that yes, he is actually smelling coffee. He can hear the coffeemaker dripping and somebody opening cabinets.

He opens his eyes and groans as a spike of pain drills into his head.

“Hungover?” someone asks from behind him. Sam. His voice is too loud. Not nearly as loud as Donna’s, though.

“What the hell,” Josh says. “I don’t own enough alcohol to get that drunk.”

“You do if you haven’t eaten for hours,” Sam says. “I made coffee and found your aspirin stash.”

“You are a god among men,” Josh says. “Why aren’t you hungover.”

“I’m young and spry,” Sam says smugly. “And I’m not a lightweight like you are.”

“You’re four years younger than I am.”

“Those four years make all the difference.”

Josh stands up and stretches, trying to work the crick out of his neck. He turns toward the kitchen. Sam’s watching him, leaning against the counter with a mug of coffee in his hand.

Josh pours himself a mug of coffee and takes two aspirin, washing them down with the bitter brew.

“I’d wondered where you kept your creamer and sugar, but I guess that answers that question,” Sam says.

Josh considers that. “I used to keep some, but then I ran out and never bought more. I got used to drinking coffee black on the campaign trail anyway.”

“I got used to espressos,” Sam offers. “All the caffeine in one shot. Or you can have  _ six. _ ”

“The world doesn’t need to be exposed to you on that amount of caffeine,” Josh says.

“I needed to write a speech in an hour. It did the trick,” Sam says. “I also didn’t sleep at all for the next day and a half.”

“Was that in California?” Josh asks.

“Might have been. It’s a blur, to be honest,” Sam says. “Normally I remember that kind of thing, but six espressos may have been enough to impair my long-term memory.”

“Yeah, no shit,” Josh says, finishing his coffee. He puts the mug in the sink.

“Hey, d’you want to go out and walk around the Mall or something?” Sam asks. “There’s supposed to be an impressive caroling group there at noon.”

Josh thinks about the previous few days. “According to the ATVA people, music is a - thing for me right now. I hear it and it sounds like. Sirens or something. So I’m gonna pass on the carolers,” he says, looking down.

“Oh. Okay, I didn’t know that. That makes a lot of sense, actually. No carolers, then,” Sam says very quickly. “I don’t know where we could go that’s not full of carolers. If you want to go somewhere, that is.”

“Might try a restaurant for lunch. Should probably call ahead, though, they’ll be busy,” Josh says. “After that, we could….” He trails off when he realizes he doesn’t have any ideas on what to do.

“I think Mount Vernon’s open for tours,” Sam suggests. “They’re usually quiet, and it’s Christmas Day so it might not be busy.”

“Mount Vernon? Washington’s old house?”

“Haven’t you ever been?” Sam asks.

“No, I never really got the chance,” Josh says.

“Well, that settles that. If that sounds good to you,” Sam adds, glancing at Josh to make sure.

“It does,” Josh says. To his surprise, it’s the truth.

“Right. In that case, I should probably go home and shower,” Sam says, running a hand through his hair, which is uncombed and sticking up in odd directions.

“Yeah,” Josh says, not sure what else to say.

“I’ll pick you up when it’s time to go?” Sam says on his way out.

“Sure,” Josh says. “Do you want to call ahead or should I?”

“I’ll do it. Any preferences?”

“Not really.”

“I was thinking the Founding Fathers,” Sam says, lingering in the doorway.

“Sounds good to me,” Josh says.

“Great. See you in a while,” Sam says, shutting the door behind him as he leaves.

“See you,” Josh echoes, feeling oddly excited about their planned afternoon, if still a bit hungover from the previous night.

With Sam gone, Josh takes a shower, which helps with the hangover. He shaves, puts on a nice shirt and, after some debate, picks a red and white checkered tie to go with it.  _ That’s festive, right? Red? _

He picks up the newspaper from his doorstep and reads it over a bowl of cereal. Strangely, there’s a minimal amount of news involving the White House. Mostly, it’s human interest stories about the feel-good parts of the holidays.

_ No scandals, no needless drama...this is nice,  _ Josh thinks.  _ I could get used to this. _

He has absolutely no doubt that it’ll be back to normal within a week.

At around 12:30, Sam shows up at the door. They take a taxi to the Founding Fathers.

“I called ahead and did the reservation under your name,” Sam says as they walk in. “Also, they’re not playing music for the next two hours.”

“Sam, you didn’t have-”

“I didn’t want you to worry about it,” Sam says.

Having no real response to that, Josh settles for a nod. “Okay.”

“So, did you read the paper this morning?” Sam asks.

“Yeah, I did. Nothing scandalous about the White House at all.”

“I was surprised. Then again, maybe reporters sometimes have souls after all,” Sam says.

“More likely they know their readers don’t want to read political drama on Christmas Day,” Josh says.

“Fair point.”

The hostess seats them in a booth near the back and gets them each a glass of water and a menu.

“Looks like they have a special,” Sam muses. “Ham and mashed potatoes with traditional stuffing and a side salad.”

“There’s another one listed. Local crab and roasted artichoke hearts, served over grits. What is this, Georgia?” Josh says with a laugh.

“Hey, that actually sounds good. Don’t mock the grits, Josh,” Sam says.

“How are you from  _ California? _ ”

“I’ll have you know my mother is a Southerner, and she knows how to cook like one,” Sam says.

A bored-looking waiter comes by and takes their orders. Josh orders the ham special and Sam orders the crab.

The food comes fairly quickly - a benefit of making a reservation under a name associated with the White House - and it’s delicious.

Josh and Sam talk about the budget deficit and their current problem of the lame-duck Congress for several minutes before moving on to the last football season.

As he’s taking a bite of his mashed potatoes, Josh glimpses something out of the corner of his eye - a reflected flash of something.

“Sam,” he says. At his tone, Sam’s head shoots up. “Your eleven o’clock. Who is it?”

Sam glances over Josh’s shoulder casually. “Chris. One of CJ’s reporters.”

“He have a camera?”

“He’s trying to hide it, but it’s out of the bag.”

“I’m going to have to chat with him, or we’ll be in the news again.”

“Have fun,” Sam says. “Please try not to create another secret plan to fight inflation.”

“No promises,” Josh says, standing up.

He walks over to Chris’s table. The reporter looks slightly alarmed.

“Hey, Chris. How ya doing?” Josh says, patting him on the shoulder.

“I’m doing well, Mr. Lyman,” Chris says, voice admirably calm. “How is your Christmas going?”

“Oh, it’s going great. It was much better before you pulled your camera out, though,” Josh says. “You know, if you want a photo op you can ask us. We’ll smile and everything, if you ask nicely.”

Chris’s mouth drops open. “Mr. Lyman, I-”

“Stuff it,” Josh says. “We’re just trying to eat Christmas dinner. It’s not a  _ date _ , or whatever you’re planning to spin it into.”

The people Chris has been eating with - two teenagers that look like him and a woman in a dress - look at him accusingly.

“Dad,” one of the teenagers says. “It’s your  _ day off. _ You said you wouldn’t do anything.”

“Janice, it’s not every day-”

“It’s not every day people go out and eat lunch with their colleagues?” the other teenager asks, head tilted.

“Peter, come on,” Chris says.

“No, Peter’s right,” his wife says. “Darling, put the camera away. You promised you wouldn’t use it unless there was a real event, and two people eating lunch isn’t an  _ event. _ ” Her tone is sharp.

Chris relents and tucks the camera back into its bag.

“Hey, you guys have a good Christmas,” Josh says.

“You too,” Chris says, somewhat reluctantly.

Josh returns to the table with Sam.

“How’d I do?” he asks.

“Not bad. Didn’t even cause a small scene,” Sam says. “He’s going to leave that camera put away, if the look on his wife’s face is any indication.”

“Yeah, I think he is.” Josh takes a bite of ham. “That was just what I needed. I’m alive. The world is bright. I love winning.”

Sam snorts. “You love the adrenaline rush of telling people to fuck off.”

“That too,” Josh admits. “Hey, do you think the President would kill us if we-”

“If you have to ask, the answer is yes,” Sam says before Josh can continue.

“-if we stopped in to the office for ten minutes?” Josh finishes. “I need to grab some papers.”

“No, you don’t,” Sam says. “It’s Christmas Day. Also, he actually ordered us not to set foot in the west wing until Tuesday, so I think disobeying at this point would technically count as treason.”

“Those were his exact words?” Josh asks, frowning. He can’t remember what the President had said; it’s a blur in his mind. He knows he heard  _ something  _ about taking Christmas Day off.

“‘None of you are to set foot in this building until Tuesday. That’s an order,’” Sam recites.

“That’s not very interpretable,” Josh says.

“No,” Sam agrees.

They finish their meals, chatting about the latest political problems and the next State of the Union and what Sam’s going to do for it.

“I’m thinking an overarching alliterative theme,” Sam says, eyes bright with excitement. “It’s early to be thinking about it, and of course Toby and the President have final say on the content, but making three or five main points with a similar start or even a similar sound? It’ll be  _ amazing.  _ Draws the reader back to every point each time he mentions one of them. All in parallel structure, of course.”

Josh isn’t a speechwriter, but Sam’s so excited that it’s hard not to feel the same. “That sounds really good. Does he have any topics in mind?”

“No, I haven’t spoken to him about it yet. It’ll keep until January, at least. Depends when Congress invites us to give it. He’ll probably have us start working on it really soon, since they could technically invite us any day now,” Sam says.

“Can they do that? Just send an invite and tell us we’re giving a speech tomorrow?”

“Yeah. Technically, we can turn it down, but it’s bad press.”

“I can imagine. ‘President Bartlet delays State of the Union because he didn’t have the speech written soon enough, more at six,’” Josh says.

“Exactly. We need to be at least mostly ready before we get the invite. There’s always last minute rewrites, you know that, but it’s the principle of the thing,” Sam says.

Josh nods.

“Hey,” Sam says, checking his watch. “It’s about two. We should get going if we want to beat the crowds.”

They split the check for the meal and wander out into the street.

“How do we get to Mount Vernon? Do you own a car?” Josh asks.

“No, do you?” Sam asks.

“No,” Josh says. “Why would I own a car? This is  _ DC.  _ You can’t throw a paper airplane without hitting some form of public transportation.”

“I hadn’t really thought that far ahead. We could take a taxi, I guess,” Sam says.

“How do we get back afterwards? I don’t really want to pay a taxi driver to wait while we go on the tour.”

“We’ll figure it out.” Sam flags down a taxi and motions for the driver to roll down the window. “Hi, can you take us to Mount Vernon?”

The driver squints at them. “Nah, that’s outta my service area.”

“Okay. Thank you,” Sam says. The driver pulls away.

“Sam!” Josh says.

“Josh!” Sam mimics him. “What? That’s not his fault.”

“All you have to do is offer to pay him for the drive back too,” Josh says. “How did you survive New York?”

“I walked,” Sam says, flagging down another taxi. “Hi, can you take us to Mount Vernon? We’d be happy to cover your drive back into the city as well.”

“Sure thing,” the driver says. “Hop on in.”

Josh shoots Sam a triumphant look as they get into the taxi.

“Be about forty minutes,” the driver says. “You guys want music on?”

“No, thanks,” Josh says. He shuts the glass window, giving them a bit of privacy.

“You were right,” Sam admits. “As in all capitalist societies, the key to navigating this one is money.”

“It’s not that deep,” Josh says. “Hey, we’re both sober.”

“Yes, Josh, we are. Astonishing,” Sam says.

“No, last night you told me to ask about why you didn’t go home for Christmas when we were both sober. We’re both sober, and I’m asking.”

“I didn’t think you’d remembered that, actually,” Sam says. “You were pretty damn drunk.”

“Listen, you don’t have to answer. It’s your business.”

“No. I’ll answer,” Sam says. “I told you I would.”

They sit in silence for a minute. The driver merges onto a freeway, narrowly avoiding a semi.

“So, are you going to answer?” Josh says. “Or have I rendered Sam Seaborn speechless?”

“I’m not speechless. I’m thinking,” Sam says. “You remember when you asked me how I told my parents I was queer?”

Josh thinks back. “Yeah, you said they just knew.”

“That wasn’t exactly true.” Sam’s tone is indecipherable. He’s looking out his window, avoiding Josh’s eyes.

“Sam, what happened?” Josh asks, hundreds of thoughts running through his head, each worse than the previous.

“I was in fourth grade and had a puppy crush on a boy in my class. You know how kids are,” Sam says. “We hung out  _ all the time.  _ I was always at his house, he was always at mine, and the teachers hated the fact that they couldn’t separate us.”

Sam takes a deep breath. “One day we were playing pirates at my house-”

“You played pirates?” Josh pictures a tiny Sam with an eyepatch and a cardboard sword, ready to defeat his opponents with the power of adjectives.

“Yes, Josh, we played pirates. That’s not the point.”

“Sorry. Go on.”

“We were playing pirates and then I kissed him. I was in love with the kid, Josh, or at least as in love as you can be when you’re nine, and I think he felt the same because then he kissed me. And my mom walked into the room.”

It occurs to Josh that in spite of how long he’s known Sam, he knows almost nothing about his parents.

“She wasn’t happy,” he guesses.

“No. She was angry. She wanted a normal son, and she made it clear to me that she intended to have one. She made me promise to be normal. That was her word.  _ Normal _ .” Sam’s voice is soft, but Josh can hear his distaste of the word.

“So after that, all through high school, I told myself I was only allowed to like girls. It wasn’t that hard, you know. I could pretend, I could almost even fool myself,” Sam says, finally looking back at Josh. “It took me years to realize that I wasn’t the one in the wrong.”

“I’m sorry,” Josh says.

Sam shakes his head. “No. It’s not your fault. Anyway, that’s why they didn’t want me home for Christmas. They were content to pretend it had never happened until I went and stood beside you on national television.”

“So it is my fault,” Josh says. “If I hadn’t been so  _ stupid _ , you could be home with them.”

“Josh,” Sam snaps. “It’s not your fault. And honestly, I’d much rather be here with you than back there pretending.”

That startles Josh a bit. They’re friends, sure, but Sam prefers him over his family? “Sam, I…”

“I knew what I was doing when I went with you to the march,” Sam says. “I knew what would happen. I’m not cut up over it. It’s been a long time coming.”

“Are you disowned?”

“No. As good as, though,” Sam says. “They don’t want anything to do with me.”

They lapse into silence. The taxi driver neatly weaves through traffic on the highway. They’re nearly to the exit for Mount Vernon.

“They’re idiots,” Josh says. “You’re  _ Samuel Seaborn.  _ You work in the White House. You write speeches for the President of the United States. Who the hell wouldn’t want to have something to do with you?”

Sam shrugs. “Right now, I just feel like Sam.”

_ Just Sam. _

Without thinking, Josh unbuckles his seatbelt and moves to Sam’s side of the car. “Well,  _ just Sam  _ is good enough for me.”

Sam takes a breath in, probably to reply, and Josh cuts him off by kissing him.

It’s short and sweet but at the same time  _ burning  _ and  _ alive _ and Josh suddenly can’t remember his own last name. 

And then Sam gently pushes on his shoulders. Josh shoots back into his seat like he’s been, well, shot.

“Josh,” Sam says carefully. “We’re in a car.”

Josh nods, slightly terrified, unable to take his eyes from Sam’s face.

“A car with windows that other people can see into.”

When Josh speaks, his voice is rough. “We’re on the highway. Nobody’s looking, they’re all driving.”

“I’m just saying, this maybe isn’t the place? And please put your seatbelt back on.”

Josh fumbles with the seatbelt, reluctant to look away, and hears it click into place.

There’s a  _ very  _ awkward silence. Josh tries to steady his breathing.

“Should we talk about this?” Sam says, sounding completely lost. “Because it feels like we should talk about this.”

“Nothing to talk about,” Josh says, speaking entirely too quickly. “Forget it. It was stupid. I’m sorry.”

“No, Josh, it was - good. I liked it. You liked it, right?” Sam checks. He’s blushing. Sam  _ never  _ blushes.

“Yeah,” Josh says, allowing himself a tiny measure of hope.

“It would be hard. We’d have to keep it quiet for a while. Until after the bill is defeated,” Sam says. “Probably even longer.”

“Yes,” Josh says. “The bill. Gotta get that put down first.”

“We’d have to be very, very careful not to be seen,” Sam continues. “The little thing you did with Chris? It’s not going to work every time.”

“I object to that.”

“We both know I’m right. He’s an easy mark,” Sam says. “If the media finds out, it could be the end for both of us.”

Josh considers that. “I mean, that’s what we thought last time, right?”

“No. It’s different,” Sam says. “There’d be no running for office if it went down badly. We’d have to leave the administration for good.”

Josh looks Sam in the eyes. “I’m willing to risk it if you are.”

Sam nods, slowly. “I’m willing to risk it.”

The taxi pulls off on the exit and turns onto a side street. The driver knocks on the glass. Sam opens it.

“Hey, fellas, where to exactly?” asks the driver.

“Washington’s mansion,” Sam says.

“Just a couple minutes, then,” says the driver..

Josh looks at Sam.  _ I can’t wait to kiss him again,  _ he thinks.  _ I’ve never kissed a guy before, have I? It’s so much better than I imagined. _

The taxi stops at the gate. There’s a fair amount of cars there, but it’s hardly a busy day.

Sam insists on covering the taxi driver’s fees, so Josh buys their tickets into the tour. There’s only a couple minutes to wait before it starts.

The mansion itself is grandiose and impeccably maintained. It’s cold and there’s an inch of fresh snow on the ground.

“I didn’t realize it was going to snow today,” Sam says. “It’s nice.”

“Ah, is Mr. California used to his white Christmases?” Josh asks with a grin.

“Is Mr. Connecticut any different?” Sam shoots back, and Josh shakes his head with a laugh.

The tour starts a minute later. Sam and Josh slip in at the back of the group, which seems to be mostly students. They’re tiny - middle schoolers, maybe? - and all have identical backpacks with name tags. There’s one exhausted-looking teacher in the group. The guide starts talking about the history of the mansion. Josh can’t really hear, but he’s not bothered.

“There’s been a house here since Washington was a toddler,” Sam says softly. “His father built a modest house first. Later, when his older brother inherited the plantation, he renamed it after Admiral Edward Vernon. Washington kept the name and built his own house.”

The tour goes on. More often than not, Sam has a quick fact or opinion about whatever they’re walking by.

“This room is bigger than most people’s entire houses were in the colonial era,” Sam says. “It makes up less than a tenth of the mansion’s total square footage.”

“How do you know all this and not the history of the building we work in?” Josh asks.

Sam opens his mouth to respond, thinks for a minute, and closes it again.

“What building?” asks a small voice.

_ Oh.  _ Josh hadn’t realized that a kid had been listening in.

“The White House,” Sam says. “We work in the White House.”

The kid’s eyes go wide. He nudges the girl next to him, who’s turned around watching the guide talk about Martha Washington. “Katie!  _ Katie! _ ”

“What?” Katie snaps. “I’m trying to listen.”

“These guys work at the  _ White House, _ ” the boy says as if it’s a dramatic secret.

Katie turns around. “What, really?”

“Really,” Josh says.

“Well, what are you doing here?” she asks with a frown.

“The President gave his senior staff Christmas off,” Sam says. “So we thought we’d go on a tour.”

“You know the President?” Katie asks skeptically. Hearing the question, several other students turn around to stare.

“Watch the tour,” Sam says, making a  _ turn-around  _ motion with his finger.

Most of the students turn back.

“Yeah, we know the President,” Josh says. “He’s nice, unless you insult Notre Dame.”

“What’s Notre Dame? Our lady?” Katie says.

“It’s a college. He studied there,” Sam says. “Why do you know French but not what Notre Dame is?”

Katie frowns. “French class was required last year.”

Sam nods. “Fair enough. Hey, is your group going back to DC after the tour?”

“I think so,” Katie says. “We might stop on the way for food.”

“That’s fine. Great, actually. If you convince your teacher to give us a ride into town, we’ll answer any questions you have for the entire ride back,” Sam says.

Katie considers that. “Deal.” She turns back to the tour and starts edging toward her teacher.

“And that-” Sam turns to Josh. “-is how you get back to DC from Mount Vernon.”

“I think that’s cheating,” Josh says. “Besides, the teacher hasn’t agreed yet.”

After a few minutes, the teacher wanders over to them.

“Hi, I’m Sam Seaborn,” Sam says, shaking his hand. “Deputy Director of Communications at the White House.”

The teacher nods. “I’m Owen Lowell. My student says you need a ride into DC?”

“Yes,” Josh says. “I’m Josh Lyman, Deputy Chief of Staff. We took a taxi out for the tour and didn’t consider how to get back.” Owen shakes his hand too.

“Can I see your White House ID?” he asks.

Josh and Sam produce their ID cards.

“I can’t see any reason why not,” Owen says. “We have extra room on the bus, and the kids are desperate for some entertainment. The DVD player broke two days ago.”

“We’ve promised to answer any questions they have,” Sam says. “If we know the answers, of course.”

“Yes. Thank you for that,” Owen says. “They’re monsters, all of them. I’ve barely slept all week.”

“What are you guys doing, taking a school trip over Christmas break?” Josh asks.

“Oh, they’re from a boarding school in Tennessee. These ones wouldn’t be going home for the holiday anyway, so we decided they should have some fun.” From the look on Owen’s face, the students are having more fun than he is.

“We’re happy to keep them entertained on the bus,” Sam says. “They can’t be any worse than Congress, right?”

Owen gives him a look. “Right….”

The tour wraps up fairly quickly. The kids pile into a short bus, with Owen doing a head count as they pass through the door. 

“Forty-four, forty-five. And that’s all of them,” he mutters to himself, checking off something on his clipboard. “Come on in, guys.”

Josh and Sam follow him up into the bus.

“Is anybody missing?” Owen hollers over the kids, who are quite chatty. “Is anybody missing their buddy?”

Josh interprets the silence as a collective  _ no _ .

“Okay,” Owen says. “These are Sam Lyman and Josh Seaborn. No, I’m sorry, Sam Seaborn and Josh Lyman. They work at the White House, and they’re going to answer your questions on the bus ride back into the DC downtown area. Please ask appropriate questions.” He sits down in a chair beside another tired-looking teacher and closes his eyes.

Forty-five hands fly up.

“Okay,” Josh says. “We’re going to go in order starting at the front of the bus on my left. Everybody gets one question. We can do more if we have time.”

The first question is predictable: “Have you ever met the President?”

“We meet with him every day, actually,” Sam says. “The first time we met him was when we started working on his campaign.”

“What are your jobs?”

“I’m the Deputy Chief of Staff. Technically, that means I oversee White House employees. In practice, I end up doing a lot of political work with Congress in order to pass laws and budgets,” Josh says.

“I’m the Deputy Director of Communications,” Sam says. “I write speeches. My next job will be helping with the State of the Union.”

“The President doesn’t write his own speeches?”

“No, he’s a bit too busy for that,” Sam says. “He has a  _ lot  _ to do every day. He does read the speech and work with us to change what he wants to before giving it to a crowd.”

“Do you know CJ Cregg?”

“Yes, we do. We work a lot with CJ, actually,” Josh says. “Any time we have news, we talk to her about it. I don’t know if any of you were watching, but one time I filled in for CJ and accidentally started a conspiracy theory.”

“What theory?”

“A secret plan to fight inflation,” Sam says, grinning. “As a result, Josh is no longer allowed in the press room.”

“Are aliens real?”

Sam and Josh look at each other.

“I’m afraid that’s classified,” Sam says, sparking a ripple of giggles and whispers.

“Is there a nucular bunker under the White House?”

“There is a  _ nuclear  _ shelter, yes,” Josh says.

“What happens if there’s a nuclear bomb threat at the White House?”

“The President would either go to the bunker or take off in Marine One, which would meet up with Air Force One later.”

“Who would go with him?”

Josh pauses, remembering that slip of paper. Barely the size of a business card, but so heavy in his pocket.

“The First Family, if they’re nearby, and the Joint Chiefs,” Sam says.

“Were you there when the President was shot last year?”

“Yes, we were there,” Josh says.

“What was it like?”

Josh remembers the flash of lights, the wail of sirens, the screams, the impact of a bullet striking his chest, and takes a breath to bring himself back to the bus.

“I’d never been more scared in my life,” Sam says, kicking Josh’s foot lightly. “None of us knew what was going on or where the others were. We didn’t know what had happened to the President, and nobody else knew enough to tell us.”

The students are silent for a moment. Being middle schoolers, of course, it doesn’t take them long to recover.

“Is the President going to get a dog? My mom says the last president had a dog.”

Josh freezes, thinking of the day the President had taken a double dose of prescription painkillers. “I don’t know,” he offers hesitantly. “Maybe he should. What do you think?”

The students erupt into discussion, debating what type of dog and what it would be named and wouldn’t a cat be better.

“Hey, Mr. Lyman! If you know the President, and we’re driving near the White House, can we meet him?”

Josh looks at Sam. Sam shrugs and mouths,  _ he likes kids. _

“I’ll see what I can do,” says Josh. “Does your teacher have a cell phone?”

“Yeah!”

One of the kids nudges Owen awake. He hands a cell phone to Josh, who swings himself into an empty front seat and flips it open.

As Josh dials, Sam continues to answer questions.

“This is the Oval Office,” says Mrs. Landingham.

“Hello, Mrs. Landingham. This is Josh.”

“Hello, Josh. I hope you’re not planning on coming in today.”

“I wasn’t, actually. I was wondering if the President had a few minutes to meet about forty middle schoolers sometime this afternoon,” Josh says.

“Hmm.” She doesn’t sound impressed. “I’ll patch you over to his phone.”

A minute later, President Bartlet picks up the phone. “Josh.”

“Mr. President.”

Behind Josh, rows of middle schoolers go dead silent.

“What’s this I hear about forty middle schoolers?”

“Well, Sam and I went on a tour of Mount Vernon.”

“Ah. I do enjoy Mount Vernon,” President Bartlet says. “I hope you paid attention.”

“We paid lots of attention,” Josh lies. “And a bus full of students on tour is giving us a ride back into town. They’re very interested in meeting you, sir, if you have a few minutes.”

“Well, let’s see,” President Bartlet says. “I’m free for the rest of the afternoon.”

“Sir.”

“Oh, I can skip a couple meetings. It’s Christmas. Why are the kids away from home, anyway?” he asks.

“They go to a boarding school, sir. These are the ones that would have stayed at school for the holiday anyway,” Josh says.

“Well. If you get them into one room, then I’m happy to meet with them. We can do a photo op in the Oval Office,” President Bartlet says.

“Yes, sir. I’m sure they’ll appreciate it. I think they’ll fit into the press room, if you have time to chat with them,” Josh suggests.

“Of course I have time to chat with them, Josh. I love students,” he says.

“Yes, sir, I know. We’re about fifteen minutes away,” Josh says.

“Very well. Press room first, then the Oval,” he says.

“Yes, sir. Thank you, Mr. President.”

President Bartlet hangs up. Josh flips the phone shut and stands up. He hands the phone back to the teacher and looks out at the sea of children. Their eyes are all on him.

“Who wants to meet the President of the United States?” he asks, and they all cheer.

“He said yes?” Sam asks him.

“He loves students. And I think he wanted to skip a meeting or two,” Josh says. “We’re taking them to the press room and then the Oval for a photo op.”

“Excellent. This’ll bump us at least a couple points, right?”

“It should,” Josh says. “It’d be better if it was on video, but the photos will do fine.”

They reach the White House fairly quickly. It takes a solid ten minutes to shuffle the kids through security.

They’re all wide-eyed and open-mouthed as they walk into the White House.

“Whoa,” Katie mutters. “This is  _ so  _ much better than Mount Vernon.”

“Okay, kids, this is just the lobby,” Sam says. “Greater things await. We’re headed to the press room.”

They all follow Sam and Josh into the press room.

“Everybody find a seat,” Sam instructs. “This is where CJ and occasionally the President address reporters. If the seal or the podium looks familiar, you may have seen them on TV.”

Just then, President Bartlet strides into the room. The students fall silent immediately, hushed by his presence.

“Good afternoon,” he says, standing at the podium. “I see our reporters are younger than usual. Have  _ any  _ of you graduated college?”

“We’re in middle school,” one of them says.

“Middle school!” President Bartlet looks astonished. “Really? And they let you into the press room?”

Sam nudges Josh and walks up the stairs. Josh follows, slipping into the back room unnoticed by any of the students.

Behind the half-dozen large cameras, they stand together and watch the President.

“I like the press room better without reporters,” Josh says.

“You would,” Sam says. “After the debacle you caused last time.”

“Hey,” Josh says softly. Sam turns to face him, inquisitive, and Josh kisses him.

“Do you know how many times I wanted to do that today?” Sam asks when they pull away.

“Not as many as I did,” Josh says.

“I might have to argue with you on that one,” Sam says, leaning forward again.

Josh glances down at the press room and freezes. Sam follows his gaze.

The President is looking at them.  _ Really?  _ his expression says. He’s still talking to the middle schoolers, who are completely enraptured, but he’s  _ definitely  _ looking at them.

Josh feels the blood drain from his face.  _ Oops. _

“We’re bad at this ‘secret relationship’ thing,” Josh says, taking a step back away from Sam.

“Yes,” Sam says quietly.

“We should probably go listen to him.”

“Yes,” Sam says again.

They stand in the back of the press room as the President answers questions from the eager students. Finally, he looks at them again.

“Josh, Sam, let’s move these students into the Oval Office. I want a picture with them.”

“Yes, sir,” Josh says. “You heard him, kids, let’s go to the Oval Office.”

“I’ll meet you there,” President Bartlet says. “There’s just a Martian that I have to talk to - I mean, a staff member.”

He disappears out the back door with a wink.

Josh leads the students through the West Wing.

“This is my office,” he says. “And this open area is the bullpen. There’s always people running through here. And this is Mrs. Landingham, one of the most important members of our staff. She decides who gets to enter the Oval Office.”

“Hmm,” Mrs. Landingham says, peering at him. “You’re still on my list, Josh.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says. “What list is that?”

“You know what list. He’s waiting for you all. Go on in,” she says.

“Welcome to the Oval Office,” Josh says, holding the door open. The students file in, lining up against the back wall.

President Bartlet is sitting at his desk, talking on the phone.

“Really? There’s no photographers available? Well, all right. Thank you anyway,” he says, hanging up the phone. “All of my photographers took the day off. I’m going to have Mrs. Landingham take the photo, in that case. Did you all meet Mrs. Landingham?”

The students nod.

“Mrs. Landingham!” he calls.

“Yes, Mr. President?”

“Can you come take a picture for me?”

“Yes, Mr. President.”

Mrs. Landingham comes into the room and sets up a camera.  _ Where did she get that?  _ Josh wonders.

“Okay, everyone, come around here to the desk,” President Bartlet says. “Shortest in the front, there we go. We want everyone’s faces in the photograph. I’ll just be standing here behind you. I’m going to have a print of the photograph sent to each of your families, so be sure to smile.”

Josh and Sam stand in the corner and watch the process. It takes a few tries, but Mrs. Landingham eventually takes a satisfactory photograph. “You’re done, sir,” she says.

“Excellent. Kids, thank you for your time. I hope to vote for each and every single one of you someday,” he tells them seriously. “Take your education seriously. Learning is a great privilege. Mr. Lowell, have a safe trip home and good luck teaching them.”

“Thank you, sir,” Owen says, shaking his hand. “It’s an honor to meet you.”

The students, their teachers, and Mrs. Landingham all leave the room. Finally, Josh and Sam are left with the President.

“Really?” he asks once the doors have shut. “In the  _ press room _ , in front of forty potential witnesses who have no concept of bribery or secrecy?”

“Sir, we-” Sam starts.

“Is this a recent development?”

“Very recent, sir,” Josh says.

“Do you need to be reminded of how difficult it will be to defeat the marriage recognition act as is?” he asks.

“No, sir. We’d intended on keeping it quiet at least until that was done,” Sam says.

President Bartlet sits down in his chair. Sam and Josh stay standing.

“You two know I don’t care what my staff do with their personal lives,” he says. “And I’m happy for you. I truly am. But for Christ’s sake, if you two don’t figure out how to be discreet-” He stops, shaking his head.

“We will, sir,” Josh says. “Until after we defeat the bill, we’ll keep it completely off the radar.”

“Tell CJ so she can run interference with reporters. And Toby and Leo should know,” President Bartlet says. “No others.”

“Donna,” Josh says. “She’ll figure it out. She figures everything out.”

“Fine,” President Bartlet says. “No more unless it’s completely unavoidable. Understand?”

“Yes, sir,” they both reply.

“Now have a seat,” the President says, a devilish look in his eyes. “I’d like to hear about the tour of Mount Vernon you took.”

Josh and Sam obediently sit on the couch.

“First of all, did your guide mention the fact that it wasn’t originally named Mount Vernon?” President Bartlet asks.

“Yes,” Josh says. “Washington’s older brother renamed it when he inherited it from their father.”

Sam looks offended. “I told you that.”

“The guide probably mentioned it too,” Josh says.

“You didn’t listen at all, did you?” President Bartlet says.

“Not really,” Sam says. “It was a beautiful building, though. Washington intended for it to be symmetrical, didn’t he?”

“He did,” President Bartlet says. “During construction, he sacrificed his design for practicality. Admirable, but it must have annoyed him to no end whenever he saw the front façade. He altered it in order to have natural light in the dining area, which back then was very important as they relied on oil lamps and candles for light.”

Sam gets into the discussion about colonial home design, and Josh watches him talk.

Even when sitting, Sam is an energetic speaker. His hands are always moving, and his posture continually shifts to match his words.

The conversation drifts to modernization of old houses, and then to architecture. Sam and the President debate the relative merits of gothic and romanesque designs for at least five minutes.

Then, the outside door opens and the First Lady walks in. She’s wearing a bathrobe, which strikes Josh as a bit unusual - it’s nearly six in the afternoon.

“Jed,” she says. “What are you doing? You told me you’d be back in half an hour, didn’t you cancel the meetings?”

_ Oh,  _ Josh thinks.  _ They were - oh. _

“Has it been that long, Abigail?” President Bartlet asks.

“It’s nearly six. You left at half past four.”

“Damn. Sorry, boys, I have to go,” President Bartlet says, standing up. Josh and Sam are quick to follow suit.

“I thought you told them to take the day off,” Dr. Bartlet says with a quick smile at Josh and Sam.

“I did. They showed up at the door with forty middle schoolers,” President Bartlet says. “And you know I can’t say no to middle schoolers.”

“Of course you can’t,” sighs Dr. Bartlet. “Josh, how long have you and Sam been dating?”

Josh’s jaw drops. He stares at her.

“Don’t look so surprised. You’ve been looking at him like a lost puppy since before I walked in,” she says. “Answer the question, please.”

Sam and Josh share a glance. “Uh…three hours?” Josh answers.

Dr. Bartlet nods knowingly. “Well, I’ll be taking my husband back now. You boys have a good evening.”

“You too, Dr. Bartlet,” Sam says.

She smiles. “Oh, I intend to. Come on, Jed,” she says. “Let’s go back to the residence.”

And so they all leave the Oval Office, the Bartlets going out the back door and Josh and Sam going out through Mrs. Landingham’s office.

“Have a good Christmas, boys,” Mrs. Landingham says.

“You too,” Josh tells her.

“Thank you, Josh,” she says.

They walk through the empty west wing.

“Are we?” Sam asks as they’re walking through the bullpen.

“Are we,” Josh repeats.

“Dating. Are we dating? Did we go on a date today?” Sam asks.

“I guess,” Josh says. “I don’t know. What counts as a date?”

“I don’t know,” Sam says.

“Okay,” Josh says.

“Okay.”

They check out of the building and walk to the curb to hail a taxi. Sam gives his address, and the taxi pulls away from the curb.

The ride to Sam’s apartment is quiet. As Sam’s leaving the taxi, Josh catches his eye.

“Hey, uh,” Josh says. “I’ll see you tomorrow?” He internally cringes. Of course they’ll see each other tomorrow. They see each other practically every day.

“See you tomorrow,” Sam says softly. He shuts the car door and disappears into his apartment.

“Where too, mister?” asks the taxi driver after a minute.

Josh lists his address. It’s only a ten minute drive to his apartment building, but it feels much longer.

Finally, the taxi stops. Josh pays the driver and lets himself into his apartment.

He’s not especially hungry, but he makes himself a sandwich anyway.

_ I’m dating Sam Seaborn, _ he thinks, and for good measure says it aloud too.

Nobody responds, of course. It’s still nice to say it.

It’s strange to be in his apartment before midnight. Josh sits in his chair and watches the news for an hour, flips through three magazines, and catches the tail end of a softball game before giving up and going to sleep at ten.

_ I haven’t gotten this much sleep in months,  _ he thinks as he sets his alarm.  _ I should probably go in early tomorrow. I’m sure something will have happened between now and then. _

To his surprise, he falls asleep quickly, exhausted by the day’s events.

When he wakes up, it’s to the sound of his alarm.

He fumbles for the off button, knocks the alarm off his bedside table, and actually falls on it before he manages to turn it off by unplugging it.

Now on the floor, he groans and rolls off the clock before standing up and standing in the dark.

He goes through his morning routine -  _ coffee, quick breakfast, shower, comb hair, brush teeth, work clothes  _ \- and is out the door long before the sun breaks the horizon.

The White House is quiet when he arrives, but he knows it won’t be for long. Already, the first assistants, interns, and workers are starting to file in. Josh can smell coffee being brewed somewhere nearby, and he hears the sound of a fax machine whirring.

“Donna!” he yells from his office.

“Josh!” she yells back.

“What’s going on today?”

“Senior staff in twenty minutes,” Donna says. “Then some policy work for Leo and a few meetings in the afternoon.”

“Great. Tag along for senior staff, would you?” Josh says.

“Why?” she asks.

“Because I’m asking you to.”

“Well, why are you asking me to?”

“Because I’m your boss and asking you to do things is my inalienable right,” Josh says. “Don’t roll your eyes at me.”

“How do you know I rolled my eyes?”

“You just told me. Senior staff.”

“Fine,” she says, though not crossly. “I left the files for the policy work on your desk.”

Josh flips through the files. They’re about some sort of gun rights bill that some Republican in the House introduced a few weeks ago. It’ll never get a vote, but that doesn’t mean they can afford to let it get any closer to the House floor.

He pores over the papers for seventeen minutes and then has to run to make senior staff on time.

Sam, CJ, Donna, and Toby are waiting outside Leo’s door. Sam’s leaning against the wall. There’s a pen tucked behind his ear and a clipboard braced on his arm.

“Hey,” Josh says.

“Hey,” Sam says, not taking his eyes from the clipboard he’s holding. “Does  _ accountability _ or  _ responsibility  _ sound better for gun ownership?”

“Responsibility is less alienating. Accountability is more realistic,” Josh says.

“Right. Responsibility, then,” Sam mutters, retrieving his pen and crossing something out.

“Are we pandering to gun owners?” Toby asks.

“Actually, we’re pandering to the large percentage of the country who like firearms and aren’t afraid to vote Republican if we annoy them,” Sam says absently.

“Sounds like a waste of time to me,” Josh says.

“You say that now, but when we use the wrong word and drop five points in popularity overnight-” CJ starts.

Leo opens the door, cutting CJ off. “Come on in, guys.” He gives Donna a strange look, but doesn’t say anything.

They enter his office.

“Okay. Everybody sit,” Leo says. “Sam, the President mentioned that you had something to say.”

“Oh,” Sam says. “Okay. This is because I made that comment about gothic architecture.”

“Sam,” Toby says.

Sam looks at Josh. “Is there any way to do this without sounding like we’re in high school?”

“Probably not,” Josh says.

“Josh and I are dating,” Sam says. “This is under the radar until we defeat the marriage recognition act.”

“How far under the radar,” CJ says.

“Very far under the radar,” Sam says.

“ _ How far- _ ”

“With the exception of the President and the First Lady, the only people who get to know are in this room,” Josh says. “And they both know already.”

“Since when have you and Sam been dating?” CJ asks.

“Yesterday,” Sam says. “I’ll have you know that you were my first call.”

“You didn’t call me,” CJ says.

“Well, I didn’t call anyone. But if I did, I would’ve called you first,” Sam says.

“Both of you need to meet me later. We’ll discuss how to keep the media out of it,” CJ says. “Does four work for you?”

Josh looks at Donna, who nods. “Works for me,” he says. Sam nods.

“Good. Try not to do anything stupid before then,” CJ says.

“We will,” Sam says.

“Already they’ve morphed into one entity.  _ We  _ this,  _ we  _ that,” Toby says, rolling his eyes. “They’re going to be insufferable.”

“You know you love us,” Sam says cheerily. “What’s on the agenda for today, Leo?”

“First of all, we need to make sure that the gun rights access bill never gets a vote,” Leo said. “The President is having a formal dinner tonight with some garden variety ambassadors, the ones who never get attention, so somebody needs to make a seating chart for that. And the bipartisan breakfast is next week, so CJ and Toby’s office need to get together on planning remarks and a seating chart.”

“On it, chief,” Toby says. “Sam, get it done. Leo, I’m going to work on the State of the Union. Any word on when they’re inviting us?”

“None. I have a hunch they’ll leave it until later than usual,” Leo says. “But get started on it anyway. The President wants five minutes with you this morning, have Mrs. Landingham find you a slot.”

“I will,” Toby says.

“Josh, you’re working with me on the bill. I want your take by eleven,” Leo says. “And CJ, please do the seating charts.”

“I will,” she says. “Can you get me a list of the attendees?”

“I’ll have Margaret get it to you,” Leo says. “That’s a wrap on senior staff. Get working. You’ve had your day off, now the break’s over.”

They leave Leo’s office, ready to start the day’s work. No doubt mistakes will be made, plans abandoned, and enough coffee consumed to energize a small army before the day is over.

Outside of the building, dawn finally arrives. The sun casts golden light into the White House’s eastern windows.

Inside the building, Josh smiles.  _ It’s time to get to work. _


	3. This Momentous Day: February 20, 2001

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Three: Congress votes on HB-324; Josh, Sam, and Toby scramble to make sure the Senate Democrats are in line. Set the Tuesday before Ellie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anybody recognize my chapter title? Guess the source and I will answer a plot-related question of your choosing. (No Googling!)
> 
> No TWs for this one. Enjoy!

Josh stares at the television, hand on his phone.

 _Don’t call the vote. Not yet,_ he thinks, watching the representatives mill around. _Five more minutes, that’s all I need, just five more minutes...._

“Josh!” Donna calls from the bullpen. “Line 2.”

“It’s him?”

“It’s him.”

Josh takes a breath and picks up the phone. “Congressman Graves.”

“Mr. Lyman. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“What’s the head count on the vote?” Josh asks.

“The vote?” Graves asks. _Come on, Graves, you’re not stupid. You know which vote._

“On HB-324. You know, the one the Republicans are about to call,” Josh says, fighting to keep his frustration from showing.

“The head count was fine last night,” Graves says.

“Double check Miller for me. And Bowers,” Josh says.

On the television, the representatives begin to take their seats.

“Mr. Lyman, I don’t have time for this. We’re calling the session to order in three minutes,” Graves says. “Nothing’s going to change your vote count at this point.”

“Just check it, please.”

“The representatives are in their seats. I have to go.”

“Congressman!”

“The last time I checked, Miller and Bowers are voting nay as I instructed them to do.” Graves’ tone is sharp. “At _your_ request, I might add.”

“Yes, and we’re grateful for that, Congressman, but-”

“I’m going to go vote now. Have a good day, Mr. Lyman,” Graves says, hanging up.

Josh slams the phone down into its holder. “Donna!”

She appears from around the corner. “How’d it go?”

“It didn’t. He didn’t want to take the time to check the head count, so we’re flying blind,” Josh says, moving a stack of papers perilously close to the edge of his desk.

“We had numbers last night,” Donna says.

“They might have changed,” Josh says, staring at the screen and turning the volume on.

“-and here in the House of Representatives, the delegates are preparing for a vote on three bills, including the widely debated HB-324, otherwise known as the Marriage Recognition Act,” the commentator says. “It is expected that HB-324 will be the first vote of the day.”

“Josh!” yells Toby from the hallway. “Did you call him?”

“He didn’t have time to check,” Josh yells back. “We’re flying blind.”

“Dammit!” Toby says, entering the office. “How long ago did you call?”

“An hour,” Josh says. “He called back two minutes ago. It’s weird, he’s always been prompt before, and when I called his secretary said he was just on the phone and would get back to me as soon as he was...done....”

And then, with dawning realization, he meets Toby’s eyes.

“Oh, no,” Josh says, suddenly feeling sick.

“We lost votes,” Toby says, an expression of horror on his face. “Sometime in the last twelve hours, we _lost votes._ ”

Josh hears fast footsteps and then Sam skids to a stop in the doorway, nearly crashing into Donna. “Josh-”

“We lost votes,” Josh says.

“How many?” Sam asks.

“We don’t know,” Toby says. “We don’t know anything for sure.” He’s trying to keep hope in his tone, but it doesn’t work very well.

The best they could have hoped for was the supermajority being lost by a narrow margin and that was if they kept all the Democrats in line _and_ picked up a few Republican votes.

Without the Democrats in line, they’re screwed.

“It’s going to make it through the House,” Josh says. “We didn’t have any votes to spare.”

Nobody argues with him. Instead, they all stare at the television as the bill is called onto the floor.

It’s like watching a car crash in slow motion. First they lose Bowers, then Hanson - _Hanson!_ \- and Miller. After that, Josh stops keeping track. It’s as good as over, anyway.

At the end of the vote, the tally is 304 - 134. Josh turns the TV off.

“Seventy percent,” Sam says. “That’s a supermajority. It’s going to the Senate.”

Toby groans and heads for the door. “I’m going to go tell Leo. He’ll want to call the President.”

Donna slips out behind him with a sympathetic glance at Josh and Sam. She shuts the door behind her.

“Well, this sucks,” Sam says.

“Yeah,” Josh says.

“Why did Donna shut the door?” Sam asks.

“She probably thinks we’re going to, I don’t know, fall into each other’s arms sobbing or something,” Josh says.

“Oh. She knows we still have the entire Senate, right? And unless we spectacularly mess up, they’re not going to get a supermajority,” Sam says.

“I really hope she knows that, but frankly I wouldn’t be surprised if she didn’t,” Josh says.

“Are you going to call people and yell at them?”

“No. Next time they ask us for a favor, we’ll let them flounder,” Josh says. “Unless we need to actually help them, in which case we’ll make them squirm enough that they think twice next time. Except Graves. I might yell at Graves.”

“What did Graves do?”

“He wouldn’t give me a straight answer on the head count. Waited almost an hour to return my call, then claimed he didn’t have time to check Miller and Bowers,” Josh says.

“Damn,” Sam says. “Does Toby know?”

“Yeah.”

“He’ll probably take care of the yelling bit for you,” Sam says. “What’s the Senate balance?”

“48-52,” Josh says.

“So all we need is to keep our people in line,” Sam says. “When will they vote?”

“Probably next week,” Josh says. “Depends on how soon the majority whip calls it.”

“If I were them, I’d be calling it fast,” Sam says, standing to leave. “Just saying.”

“Yeah,” Josh says. “I’m going to start making calls.”

Sam nods. “I’ll see you later?” It’s another question, too: _are you coming over tonight?_

Josh nods. _Barring a national emergency._ Sam nods again and leaves.

There’s been quite a few of those in the last two months. National emergencies, that is.

Josh pauses with his hand above his phone, trying to remember where he’d written the Senate majority whip’s phone number, and then the phone rings.

He lets out an undignified noise (a yelp, Donna would probably say, but luckily she doesn’t seem to have heard) and picks up the phone.

“Josh Lyman,” he says, putting his business voice on.

“Josh. I’m glad you answered,” says Congressman Skinner.

“Congressman, what can I do for you?” Josh asks.

“They’re calling the vote today,” Skinner says.

“What?”

“The Senate. They’re calling the vote today, probably around nine in the evening,” Skinner says.

“But w-”

“They want to get it over with and they don’t want you to have time to rally. I’m calling because you deserve fair warning,” Skinner says, and Josh knows he’s not telling the whole truth.

“Matt,” Josh says. “You don’t want it passed, do you.”

Skinner is silent for a few seconds. “No,” he admits.

“You voted for it,” Josh says, letting out a frustrated breath.

“I follow my party, which is more than a lot of your people can say today.”

“Low blow, Congressman,” Josh says. “Thanks for the tip. If you want to help, maybe convince your Senatorial counterpart to break party lines. Or go around calling our people honorary Republicans, that’ll do it.”

“You’re a funny man, Josh,” Skinner says. “Good luck.”

“Yeah, thanks,” he says. “Have a good day, Congressman.” He hangs up.

“Who was that?” Donna calls from the outer office.

“Skinner. The Senate’s calling the vote tonight,” Josh says, standing up and leaving the office. “Get me a list of every Democrat in the Senate, ordered from least to most liberal, and their phone numbers. Starting with the minority whip, actually.”

Donna nods and starts typing on her computer.

“Leo!” Josh hollers, hurrying towards his office. The door’s closed. He knocks on it until it’s been opened.

“What?” Toby says, annoyed.

“They’re calling the vote tonight. We need to scramble our people, or they might get their supermajority,” Josh says.

“Dammit!” Toby mutters.

“When tonight?” Leo asks.

“Skinner thinks nine o’clock.”

“I want every Senator who can be persuaded to vote our way called by seven,” Leo says. “Josh, take Sam and Toby. One of you can make runs to the Hill in person if you need. Go over it with me before you agree to anything, and I mean _anything_.”

“Yes,” Josh says. “We will. Is the Roosevelt Room open?”

“I think so. Kick people out if you need to,” Leo says with dismissive wave of his hand. “Get it done.”

Toby goes to find Sam, and Josh enters the Roosevelt Room. There’s a few people there, looking rather confused.

“Who are you?” he asks.

“We’re with a tour group,” one of them answers.

“That’s great. We need the room, unfortunately, so if you could wait in the lobby-?” Josh says. They leave without much fuss. Josh sits by a phone.

Sam and Toby enter the room a few seconds later.

“Tonight?” Sam asks Josh, meeting his eyes. “Are you _kidding_?” Despite his tone, Josh can tell he’s worried.

_What if it passes?_

“Tonight,” Josh says. “Skinner called. We have until nine. Leo wants it done by seven. Donna should be bringing a list of senators.”

Toby starts throwing his rubber ball against the wall repeatedly. Sam and Josh exchange a few glances.

Finally, ten minutes later, Donna arrives with three printed-out sheets of paper.

“Here,” she says, setting them on the table. “They’re in the order you wanted. Do you need anything else?”

Josh shakes his head. “Not right now. Work on background for the environmental lobby’s thing.”

“Sure,” Donna says. She leaves.

“Who wants the minority whip?” Josh asks. “Or, more accurately, who wants the minority whip and the most conservative third?”

“I’ll take it,” Toby says. Josh slides him the top paper. _He’s been itching for a fight lately,_ Josh thinks. Then again, who hasn’t?

“We want a head count from the whip and responses from individual senators. If they say they’re voting to pass it, put pressure on them until they agree to vote nay,” Josh says.

“Yes, Josh, I wasn’t born yesterday,” Toby says with an eye roll. He dials the phone and waits for someone to pick up.

Josh and Sam take the remaining two sheets. Josh starts his first call to Senator McKinnon.

“McKinnon’s office,” a secretary answers.

“This is Josh Lyman from the White House. Is Senator McKinnon available?”

“She has ten minutes right now, if that’s long enough,” the secretary says.

“That’s fine,” Josh says. Across the table, Toby and Sam are talking into their phones. Toby already looks pissed off.

“Okay, I’ll put you through.”

The secretary transfers Josh to another phone line, which is promptly picked up by the senator.

“Mr. Lyman,” McKinnon says. “What can I do you for?” Something in her tone makes him think she knows what he’s calling about.

 _She’s southern,_ Josh remembers. _Georgia? No, one of the Carolinas._ “Senator McKinnon, you may have heard about a bill the Senate is voting on tonight. HB-324.”

“The Marriage Recognition Act. Yes, I’d heard that passed the House and we were voting on it today. What about it?” she asks.

“We’re wondering which way you were planning to vote,” Josh says.

“My constituents want the bill, Mr. Lyman,” McKinnon says. “South Carolina is a traditional state with traditional people who hold traditional values.”

Josh bites back a nasty comment on other southern traditions. “Your party is instructing you to vote it down,” he says instead. “How’s that for tradition?”

“I can’t do it, Mr. Lyman. Not without risking my career.”

_She wants something. What is it?_

“What can I do to convince you otherwise?” Josh asks.

“Well. I’ll have to think about that one,” she drawls.

“Think quickly, Senator. I’m on a tight schedule.”

“It’d be nice if we could vote on a certain bill. SB-221, I believe it’s called,” McKinnon says. “It’s been tabled for a few months now, thanks to the White House’s interference.”

“SB-221. The Southern History Recognition Bill?” Josh says. “The one that says we have to put up equal numbers of statues for rebel and union leaders?”

“That’s the one, Mr. Lyman.”

“Give me one minute, Senator. I’m putting you on hold.”

“Sure thing,” she says sweetly. He pushes the hold button.

Sam and Toby look at him. Sam tips his head to the side and mouths, _What’s she want?_

“Gonna go talk to Leo,” Josh says. “She wants the Southern History whatever.”

Sam nods in understanding, and Josh hurries to Leo’s office.

He’s on the phone, probably with the President based on his expression.

“Sir, that’s very fascinating. I need to go now,” he says. “Yes, sir. Have a good day, Mr. President.”

“What was that?” Josh asks.

“The history of cherry trees. What do you have?”

“McKinnon wants a vote on the Southern History Recognition Bill,” Josh says. “Can I give it to her? It’ll never pass.”

“We don’t need that kind of controversy,” Leo says. “Offer her ten minutes and a photo op with the President.”

“Okay,” Josh says. He runs back into the Roosevelt Room, dodging an intern, and picks the phone back up.

“Senator?” he says.

“That was a bit more than a minute, Mr. Lyman,” McKinnon says.

“My apologies. I can’t get you the bill. I can give you ten minutes and a photo op with the President,” Josh says.

McKinnon hems and haws over that for a few minutes, but eventually accepts.

“Thank you, Senator. We appreciate your cooperation on this matter,” Josh says.

“Hmm,” McKinnon says. “I suppose. I look forward to those ten minutes.”

“We’ll let you know when. Have a good day, Senator.”

“You as well, Mr. Lyman.” McKinnon hangs up.

Next on Josh’s list is Stackhouse. To his surprise, the senator himself answers the phone.

“Senator Stackhouse, how can I help you?”

“Senator, this is Josh Lyman from the White House.”

“Mr. Lyman. How’s your day going?”

“Could be better, Congressman. Have you heard about HB-324?”

“Yes, I heard about that. We’re voting tonight, apparently. It’s a dirty move, I think, moving it through so fast,” Stackhouse says.

“I agree. Which way are you planning to vote on the bill?” Josh asks.

“I’m voting nay, and there’s not a thing you can do about it.” Stackhouse’s voice is firm. Josh isn’t really sure why he’d think the White House would tell him to vote yea, but maybe Stackhouse doesn’t watch the news.

“Sir, I wouldn’t dream of trying to change your mind. Thank you,” Josh says.

“Just doing my job,” Stackhouse says. “You have a good day, now.”

“You too, sir.”

Josh hangs up. _That was easy._

By the time he finishes another call - this one more difficult than either of the previous ones - it’s past one. Sam ducks out to the corner sandwich shop and comes back twenty minutes later with lunch for all of them.

Josh eats his roast beef sandwich and scans the next names on his list. To his surprise, Donna’s listed a Republican - from Nevada.

“Donna!” he calls. She doesn’t respond, so he dials his office number.

“Josh Lyman’s office,” she answers after two rings.

“Donna, it’s me. What is a Republican doing on my list?” he asks.

“I put him there,” she says.

“Why?”

“Because you should call him. Hey, is there a television in the Roosevelt Room? You should be watching the news. The House majority whip is giving a speech about the bill,” Donna says. “It’s very evil.”

“Don’t call them evil, Donna.”

“They _are_ evil, Josh,” she says, unrepentant. “At least today they are. It’s a very villainous speech.”

Josh sighs. “Don’t call them evil where other people can hear you, Donna.”

“Okay. Turn on your TV.” Donna hangs up.

Sam and Toby are looking at him.

“What’s that about?” Toby asks warily.

“Donna says we should turn on the TV. Something about the House majority whip,” Josh says. Sam grabs a remote and turns on the television.

The news channel - CNN, probably - is showing a clip of Rodney Jackson standing at a podium with the Capitol Building in the background.

“-a great success for America,” he’s saying. “The American people want this bill. And today, on this momentous day, we _will_ give the American people what they’re rightfully demanding.”

“Are you telling us the Senate will vote on this bill today?” asks a reporter, shoving a microphone closer.

“I am telling you that the Senate will pass this bill before the day’s over,” Jackson says. “I guarantee it.”

Sam shuts off the television.

“He’s never been one to make idle threats,” Toby says. “What does he know that we don’t?”

“I don’t know,” Josh says. “Should we call him?”

Toby shakes his head. “Have Leo do it.”

“Why? I mean, I can see not having Sam or I do it, but why not you?” Josh asks.

“Leo’s a higher power. He’s more likely to get an answer,” Sam answers. “Let’s go.”

They walk into Leo’s office. He stares at them.

“Did you see the news?” Toby asks.

“Oh, God,” Leo says. “What now?”

“The House majority whip knows something we don’t,” Josh says. “He’s guaranteeing the bill will pass tonight. Could you give him a call?”

Leo nods. “I will. Margaret! Get Congressman Jackson on the phone.”

It takes a few minutes for the call to go through, probably because the Congressman is still taking questions. Finally, Margaret says, “He’s on line one.”

Leo picks up the phone and presses speaker, motioning for them to stay quiet. Josh shuts the door. “Leo McGarry.”

“What’s this about, Leo?” asks Jackson, sounding pissed off. “I was in the middle of a press conference.”

“Yeah, we saw that. What’s this about, Congressman?”

“What, the bill? It’s going to pass,” Jackson says. _Arrogant bastard,_ Josh thinks.

“Not by my count,” Leo says.

“Your count’s wrong, Leo. Your ducks aren’t as in a row as you’d like to think. If you’ll excuse me, I have _work_ to do,” Jackson says. He hangs up.

Leo sets the phone down. “How many have you checked with so far?” he asks.

“I’ve done four,” Josh says. “With twelve remaining, by my count.”

“I’ve done six,” Sam says. “Eleven left.”

“I’ve done three plus the minority whip,” Toby says. “And two of them have answered my questions using very similar words.”

“A total of fourteen senators out of 48 in the last hour and a half. How many each way?” Leo asks.

“I’ve convinced all mine,” Josh says.

“Mine didn’t need convincing,” Sam says. “They mostly wanted to see what I could get them. They were voting our way anyway.”

“I managed to convince mine,” Toby says. “But it was too easy. Something’s wrong.”

“You said your answered with similar words? Like they’d been...coached?” Leo asks.

“Toby, you took the most conservative senators, didn’t you?” Sam says. “Some of them must have made a pact to vote yea across party lines.”

“Oh, God,” Josh groans. “A conspiracy. That’s just what we need.”

“It’s not a crazy thought,” Sam says, raising an eyebrow at him.

“I know it’s not a crazy thought. I didn’t mean a conspiracy theory, I meant an actual conspiracy,” Josh clarifies.

“Figure it out,” Leo says. “I want updates every hour. You can take Ainsley, if you need a spy.”

“Won’t work. They know she’s a Republican,” Josh says. “Appreciate the offer, though.”

“Take whoever you need,” Leo says. “Get to work. My deadline stands.”

They walk out of the office. CJ’s hurrying toward them.

“Did you see the-” she starts.

“We saw,” Josh says.

“What does he have?” she asks, turning around to walk with them.

“We’re not sure. We think there’s an alliance among some of our senators to cross the aisle,” Sam says.

“I’m sure,” Toby says.

“Okay,” CJ says. “What are you going to _do_ about it?”

They stop in the middle of the hallway, forcing aides and interns to detour around them.

“I don’t know,” Josh says. “Yell at them until they listen?”

“Threaten them,” Toby suggests. They start walking again.

“I cannot possibly give either of those answers to the press,” CJ says. “Try again.”

“We’re looking into the matter. We remain confident that the bill will not pass,” Sam says in his press voice.

“There. See, Sam’s good at this,” CJ says. “Have fun yelling and threatening.”

“Oh, I intend to,” Toby says.

“Good luck with the press,” Josh says. CJ nods and turns off into the press hallway.

“So, we’re going to the Hill?” Sam says as they pass Josh’s office.

“I don’t think so,” Josh says.

“Where are we going, then?” Sam asks, stopping.

“I was following you,” Josh says, looking at him.

“You’re both idiots,” Toby says, pushing through them. “I’m going to the Hill. You two can stay and make calls. Ask the same questions and watch for similar answers, and call me with names.”

“What questions have you been asking?” Sam asks.

“The normal ones. You’ll figure it out,” Toby says, leaving the lobby.

“Okay,” Sam says. They go back to the Roosevelt Room.

“Toby’s sheet should take priority,” Josh says. “Since his are most likely to be voting yea.”

“Yes,” Sam agrees, peering at the list. “He got through Wayland. I’ll take Harrington if you do Vaughan.”

“Deal,” Josh says. He dials Vaughan's number.

“Senator Vaughan’s office,” a secretary answers.

“This is Josh Lyman from the White House,” Josh says. Across the table, Sam’s saying pretty much the same thing. “Can I speak with the Senator?”

“I’ll put you through.”

Vaughan answers a minute later. “Josh.”

“Senator, how are you doing?”

“I’m well, Josh, and yourself?” Vaughan says.

“I’m just fine. I was wondering if you’d heard about tonight’s vote on HB-324,” Josh says.

“I’d heard, yes. What about it?” There’s something just a bit off about Vaughan’s tone, but Josh can’t tell what it means.

“Which way were you planning to vote?”

“I can’t vote against my conscience, Josh. I’m voting yea,” Vaughan says. _Strange…I remember speaking to Vaughan a few years ago, and he didn’t strike me as the type to do this,_ Josh thinks. _He’s on the conservative end of things, but he’s always listened to leadership before._

“Your party leadership has called for you to vote nay,” he says.

“Yes, they have.”

“You’re going to break party lines?”

“If that’s what doing the right thing means,” Vaughan says.

“Is there any way I can convince you to vote nay?” Josh asks.

“Absolutely not.”

“I can get you what you want,” Josh wheedles. “A photo op with the President? A one-on-one meeting?”

“No,” Vaughan says flatly.

Well, that’s just weird. _Vaughan’s got popularity issues in his state - a photo op with the President could do wonders for him. Why’s he turning it down over something like this?_

“You have a good day, Josh,” Vaughan says, hanging up before Josh can respond.

Josh looks at Sam. He’s still on the phone with Harrington, frowning in concentration. If Josh listens hard, he can hear Harrington.

“Absolutely nothing,” Harrington’s saying. “...the right thing, and I can’t…”

Josh motions for Sam to hang up. Sam quickly ends the conversation with Harrington.

“What?” he asks.

“Vaughan said the same things as Harrington. _Absolutely not_ , and that bit about doing the right thing. I’m willing to bet that Harrington said something about voting with his consciousness, too,” Josh says.

Sam nods slowly. “He did. They’ve been rehearsing.”

“Did any of yours before use those phrases?” Josh asks.

“None,” Sam says after a minute. “Yours?”

“No.”

Josh dials Toby’s cell phone number. He picks up on the third ring.

“What?” he says.

“Toby, I could have been the President,” Josh says. “Is that how you’d greet the President?”

“I knew it was you. What?”

“Harrington and Vaughan,” Josh says. “They both answered with phrases like doing the right thing, absolutely not, and voting with their consciousnesses.”

“Harrington and Vaughan. Got it,” Toby says.

“Have you done anything yet?” Josh asks.

“I’ve intimidated three interns and one secretary into giving me information about where one senator eats lunch, which is where I am now going,” Toby says.

“Great,” Josh says. “Hurry up, would you? We have a lot of people to coerce.”

Toby hangs up on him.

Josh and Sam slowly make their way through the list of senators, calling Toby with a name each time they noticed a similar response.

The afternoon drags on. Josh’s face is numb from having the phone pressed to his ear, and the endless phone numbers are starting to blur in front of him. At one point, Donna appears and leaves them each two cups of coffee, which are quickly emptied.

Finally, Josh hangs up from his last call, sighing in relief.

“Stevenson’s on board,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “What’s our numbers?”

“Fifteen senators engaged in the conspiracy, three others voting nay, and the rest voting aye,” Sam recites.

“Seventy,” Josh mutters. “We need four more votes.”

“Did you ever call that Republican on your list? That might be a place to start,” Sam says. “Or you could call Skinner and ask who’s amenable. He’d probably know.”

“If you call the Republican, I’ll call Skinner,” Josh says.

“I hate phones,” Sam says lightly, picking his up and accepting the piece of paper Josh slides toward him. “They’re terrible inventions.”

“I completely agree,” Josh mutters, dialing Skinner’s office.

“We should have Bell hanged,” Sam says.

“Bit late for that,” Josh says, listening to the line ring. Another secretary picks up. “Hi, this is Josh Lyman. Is Congressman Skinner in?”

“Yes,” the secretary says. “I’ll put you through.”

Skinner picks up quickly. “Josh. What’s going on?”

“Matt, I need a favor from you,” Josh says.

Skinner hesitates. “What is it?”

“I need the names of five Republican senators who would be voting nay if not for party lines. Or five senators who could be convinced to vote nay.”

“I can’t give away infor-” Skinner starts, indignant.

“Matt, this is serious. If I don’t get these names, there’s a very real chance the bill will pass,” Josh says. “I know you don’t want that. Our people are crossing lines. We need your people to cross lines too.”

“How many have you lost?”

“Eighteen total. We might recover some, but it’s complicated. If you go to the press with those numbers, I will have CJ flay you alive,” Josh says, belatedly remembering that Skinner is before all else a Republican.

There’s a long pause. “I can get you four names in exchange for a photo op and five minutes alone with the President,” Skinner says at last.

“Deal,” Josh says.

“Aren’t you supposed to ask your higher-ups before agreeing to something like that?” Skinner asks, amused.

“Leo!” Josh shouts, holding his hand over the phone. Leo appears a few seconds later.

“Can I give Skinner a photo op and five minutes in exchange for vital information?” Josh asks.

“Go ahead,” Leo says, taking a seat and watching Josh, his gaze sharp.

“I just asked,” Josh says. “It’s cleared. What are the names?”

“The first two aren’t opposed to same-sex marriage. The other two don’t believe it’s the government’s place to regulate,” Skinner says. He lists the four names.

“Thank you,” Josh says, scribbling them down.

“Don’t thank me. Stop the bill,” Skinner says. “You realize that if the whip finds out about this, I’m dead?”

“He won’t find out.”

Skinner hangs up.

“What do you have?” Leo asks.

“Four Republican senators who might be persuaded to vote our way,” Josh says. “Sam’s already on with one of them.”

Hearing his name, Sam’s head shoots up and he looks at Josh. Josh nods at him, tapping the short list of names. Sam nods, whispers, “I’m on hold,” and goes back to staring at the table.

“How many votes did we lose?” Leo asks, frowning.

“Eighteen. Fifteen to Toby’s conspiracy, three to their own ideology,” Josh says.

“You’d better do a good job convincing the Republicans,” Leo says. “Every vote is going to count.”

“Yeah,” Josh says, dialing the second Republican on the list. “Stick around, will you? I don’t know what they’re going to want in exchange for crossing the aisle.”

Josh gets stuck on hold almost immediately. Senator Barrett is in a meeting, apparently.

Across the table, Sam starts talking with his senator - a freshman, if Josh recalls correctly, but a veteran of the House. It’s a fast-paced conversation. By the expression on Sam’s face, he’s fighting hard to play it casual. _If we come off desperate, they’ll know they can get whatever they want in exchange for their vote,_ Josh reasons. _We can’t afford that._

Finally, Sam looks at Leo. “Half an hour and three photo ops over the two months.”

Leo frowns but nods.

“You have a deal, Senator. Thank you,” Sam says. “We appreciate your choosing to vote the way you see fit.”

Finally, he hangs up.

“Three photo ops?” Josh asks. “Damn.”

“He was insistent,” Sam says. “I actually talked him down from five in the next six months.”

“Ambitious, for a freshman,” Josh says. A few seconds later, the hold music stops and Senator Barrett answers the phone.

“Barrett here.”

“Senator Barrett, this is Josh Lyman from the White House,” Josh says.

“Mr. Lyman. To what do I owe the pleasure?” Barrett asks. _Nevada,_ Josh remembers. _Elected by a wide margin._

“I was wondering if you had a few minutes to talk about tonight’s vote,” Josh says.

“HB-324. Yes, I was wondering when you were going to call me. There’s rumors going around that your own people are jumping ship,” Barrett says.

“Are there?” Josh asks.

“Don’t play dumb. You’re not good at it,” Barrett says. “You’re calling to try and convince me to cross party lines.”

“Yes,” Josh says. “I guarantee you won’t be the only Republican to cross the aisle. This isn’t a party-line vote anymore.”

“I’ll do it,” Barrett says. “I don’t support the bill.”

“And in exchange?” Josh asks.

“A favor from the White House,” Barrett says.

“How about a photo op and fifteen minutes with the President?” he offers.

“You’re really funny, Mr. Lyman. No, I just want a favor to be called in later,” the senator says. It’s an innocent enough phrase: _just a favor._ But when the White House is involved, it’s never that simple.

“Give me a minute, Senator,” Josh says. He puts the phone on hold.

“What’s he want?” Leo asks.

“A favor.”

“No,” Leo says.

“He wants a favor, Leo,” Josh says. “I don’t know what else we can offer.”

Leo sighs. “Give it to him, but don’t guarantee it.”

Josh picks the phone up. “We can’t guarantee the favor will be granted.”

“Any reasonable favor,” Barrett says.

“Any reasonable favor,” Josh repeats. Leo nods. “Okay, Senator, you have a deal. Thank you.”

“Pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Lyman,” Barrett says. “Tell Leo hello for me.” He hangs up.

“Senator Barrett says hello,” Josh says to Leo, who groans.

“He’s going to call in his favor at the worst possible time,” Leo says.

“I know,” Josh says. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Leo says. “Sometimes that’s what it takes.”

Sam picks up the phone and dials the next senator.

It takes him half an hour and a considerable amount of bargaining, but Sam manages to negotiate the senator down.

“He wants thirty minutes with the President and for us not to endorse anyone Democratic in his state for next election cycle,” Sam says at last, covering the phone with one hand.

“Fifteen minutes,” Leo says. “And not the whole state. He’s pushing his luck.”

“I can give you fifteen minutes and no endorsements for anyone running against you next cycle,” Sam says. He flashes the numbers 2 and 0 at Leo with a questioning look.

“Twenty minutes is fine,” Leo says.

“You can have twenty minutes,” Sam says. He leans back in relief. “Thank you, Senator. Have a good day.”

Sam hangs up the phone and sighs. “He knew we didn’t have the votes. Dragged me around the block and back before even saying what he wanted.”

“Yeah,” Josh says. “Him and half the Hill, by now.” He glances at the clock. It’s half past six.

“Who’s the last Senator?” Leo asks. Josh looks at the list.

The name stares back at him. “Joseph Warren,” Josh says. “Leo, do you want to take it or should I?”

“You take it. If he wants a higher authority, I’ll speak to him,” Leo says.

Josh makes the call. It takes ten agonizing minutes for Warren to answer the phone.

“This is Senator Warren.”

“Senator Warren, this is Josh Lyman from the White House,” Josh says.

“You’re calling to convince me to vote nay,” Warren says.

“Yes, sir, I am,” Josh says, not seeing much point in dancing around it.

“Why should I do that?” Warren asks.

“Because you believe that it’s not the place of government to define things like this,” Josh says, remembering Skinner’s comment. “You should vote by your beliefs, Senator.”

“By my count, I’m the last vote you need. What are you willing to give up for this?” Warren asks.

“That depends on what you want,” Josh says. “Within limits, of course.”

“What can you offer me that’s worth the wrath of the majority whip?” Warren asks.

_Warren. What does Warren want? He’s been a senator for a decade…nobody’s run against him in the last four years…he’s never chaired a committee, has he?_

“We can offer you the Finance Committee,” Josh says aloud, meeting Leo’s eyes. Leo’s mouth drops open.

“Josh, no,” Sam hisses.

“If I wanted a seat, I’d be on the committee already,” Warren says.

“How’d you like to be the Chair?” Josh asks. “We can do that.”

“The Chair,” Warren muses. “I could do a lot of good things from the head of that table.”

“Yes, sir, you could,” Josh says. “The question is would you like to?”

“I serve at the pleasure of the President,” Warren says, cool and deliberate. “You’ll get your vote.”

“Thank you, Senator. We’ll get you your seat next round of committee seating,” Josh says. “Have a good evening.”

“They’ve moved the vote up an hour and a half,” the senator says. “Just thought you might want to know.” He hangs up.

Leo and Sam stare at Josh.

“Do you know what you just did?” Sam asks.

“I got us our vote,” Josh says defensively.

“You’d better come up with a way to get him into that chair without pissing anyone off,” Leo says. “And if the press _ever_ hears about this, we’re all as good as dead.”

Josh thinks about that for a minute. “Yeah, you’re probably right. They moved the vote up to 7:30, by the way.”

“It’s seven now,” Sam says. “We’d better get to CJ. And call Toby, let him know he’s done.”

“I’ll take care of Toby. You two brief CJ,” Leo says, standing up. “Be ready to spin the vote, whichever way it goes.”

He leaves the room.

“That was stupid,” Sam tells Josh. “Giving him the chair like that.”

“It was the only way. He wouldn’t have settled for the things we gave the others,” Josh says. “I hate him as much as you, but we need his vote.”

“I know, but did it have to be that?”

“It’s the Finance Committee, Sam. Nobody gives a fuck about it,” Josh says.

“Okay. _Okay._ No, that’s actually a fair point,” Sam concedes. “You’re right. Let’s go talk to CJ.”

They hurry to CJ’s office. She’s just finished a press briefing, and Danny’s lurking outside her office with his notepad out.

“Go back to the press room, Danny,” Josh tells him, loud enough for CJ to hear.

“Is he still lurking?” CJ asks. “He’s been there all afternoon. I’ve threatened him with the Secret Service three times. Still he refuses to leave.” She says the last part loudly.

“Just one question, CJ!” Danny says from outside. CJ gets up and shuts the door.

“What’s going on?” she asks them.

“If we’ve done our job right, we have exactly enough votes to keep it from passing,” Sam says.

“ _Exactly_ enough,” CJ says. “Are you kidding me? We lost 14 votes?”

“Actually, we lost 18 and made up for it with four Republicans,” Josh says. “Toby may have brought a couple of our people back. Leo was going to call him home.”

CJ slams a stack of papers onto her desk. “Eighteen? I heard that right, didn’t I? Not eight?”

“Eighteen. One eight,” Sam says. “Two times nine. One-fifth of-”

“I get it,” CJ says. “When’s the vote?”

“In twenty minutes,” Sam says, checking his watch. “They moved it up.”

“Do you have spins ready?”

“We at the Communications Office have great faith in your ability to make something up,” Sam says. “We’ve been making calls all day, CJ. I’ll have them get something ready for you.”

“Fine,” CJ says. “Twenty minutes. I’m going to go tell the bloodthirsty sharks.”

She opens her door with great force. Danny grunts from behind it.

“Yeah, serves you right for trying to eavesdrop,” CJ says.

“You’ve ruined my good looks,” Danny protests, hand covering his nose. “I’m ruined, CJ.”

“You’re fine. Hurry up or you’ll miss the announcement,” CJ says, walking toward the press room. Danny hurries to follow, waving a hasty goodbye to Josh and Sam as he goes.

“You don’t think that they…” Josh starts.

“No,” Sam says.

“Okay,” Josh says. “Let’s go to the bullpen and watch the vote.”

They go to the communications bullpen, which is as always bustling with activity. Somebody’s yelling at Ed and Larry about a comic one of them drew, and a group of people are having a heated debate about the relative merits of the Oxford comma.

“Hey!” Sam shouts. The fuss quiets down immediately. “First of all, the Oxford comma isn’t optional, it’s a rule, and if I hear that argument again I’m going to fire somebody. Second, stop yelling at Ed and Larry. That’s my job. Third, we have a vote in fifteen minutes. Get ready to spin it either way; it’s going to be close.”

The shouting resumes, but in a more organized way. Deputies and interns start collaborating, secretaries start typing, and somebody turns on the televisions. Josh follows Sam into his office.

“What if it passes?” Josh asks Sam, suddenly feeling out of his depth. “What if they pass it?”

“They won’t. Congress only successfully overrides 7% of vetoes,” Sam says, sorting papers on his desk.

“What percent of those get past the House and then fail?” Josh asks.

“I don’t know,” Sam admits after a minute. “I can have someone-”

“No, Sam, I don’t care about the statistics,” Josh says. “What if it passes?”

Sam pauses and looks at Josh. “We’ll burn that bridge when we get to it.”

“I don’t think that’s the phrase,” Josh says. “I think if you used that phrase in a speech, Toby would murder you and leave your decapitated head on a stick in the front lawn.”

“Probably,” Sam agrees. “Come on, they’re about to call the vote.”

They stand together in the bullpen. The Senators are gathered in their chamber, but it takes ten minutes for them to take attendance.

As soon as the bill’s name is called, the bullpen settles. The staffers speak in whispers. Somebody turns up the volume as the vote begins.

The first vote is for the bill. It seems like a bad omen, to Josh, but then it could also just be because the Republicans have a senator whose last name is Aaronson.

Josh’s hand is only a few inches from Sam’s. He pushes away the urge to link their fingers together and concentrates on the television.

The two numbers on the screen grow, first one side ahead, then the other, never more than three votes away from each other.

Every time a Democrat votes in favor of the bill, the whispers in the bullpen increase in volume for a few furious seconds before they die down again.

Finally, it’s 65-33, with two senators remaining.

“Senator Underwood, R-Arizona.”

“Aye.”

 _66-33,_ Josh thinks. _We didn’t win any votes back._

The bullpen is silent as the camera pans to Senator Warren.

“Senator Warren, R-Nevada.”

Warren pauses, drawing out the moment. “Nay,” he says finally.

The bullpen explodes into action. Around them, staffers shout, run around, and try to figure out what spin to put on the story. On the television, a stunned reporter starts recounting the events of the vote.

Josh turns to Sam.

“We did it,” Sam says, still staring at the television. “We actually did it.”

“By one vote,” Josh says. “Never thought I’d say this, but thank God for Joseph Warren.”

Sam turns to face Josh, eyes bright with relief and happiness. Acting on instinct, Josh grabs his hand.

“Hey,” he says. “We’re allowed to do stupid things now.”

“Really?” Sam says, glancing down at their hands. “Like what?” He tilts his head.

“Like this,” Josh says, and he kisses Sam.

By the time Josh pulls back, the eyes of the bullpen staffers are all on them. Somebody whistles, causing a ripple of suppressed laughter.

“What are you looking at?” Josh asks them. “I could fire you for not working right now.”

The staffers go back to work.

“That was very stupid,” Sam says.

“Probably,” Josh agrees.

“I liked it. We should do it more often.”

“I agree,” Josh says. “Want to go get dinner?”

“I’m starving,” Sam admits. “What are you thinking?”

“Founding Fathers,” Josh says. “We should stop by CJ’s office first.”

“Sounds good to me,” Sam says. “Let me grab my coat.” He ducks into his office and reappears a moment later.

They walk to CJ’s office. She’s arguing with Danny, which isn’t unusual.

“Maybe if you would stop asking stupid questions-” she says.

“It’s not a stupid question, CJ, have you see them apart in the last month?” Danny asks.

“Of course I have, Danny!”

“When?”

CJ sputters. “I don’t keep track of all the times I see Sam and Josh. It happens _far_ too many times every day for me to do that.”

“Hi,” Sam says.

CJ and Danny both whip around to stare at them.

“See? They’re never apart,” Danny says.

“Could you at least not talk about us when we’re standing right in front of you?” Josh asks.

“Sorry, guys,” Danny says. “Hey, are you two going out?”

“Danny!” CJ snaps. “Leave.”

“I’m just saying, if I were two guys who’d been going out for a few months but knew there could be problems with a certain bill-”

“Go away, Danny,” Josh says.

“No, I think I’ll stay,” Danny says. “What are you here about, anyway?”

“We’re here to talk to CJ,” Sam says. Danny makes no move to leave.

“If you go away now, I’ll give your glorified gossip magazine an exclusive later,” Josh says.

“On what?” Danny asks. “And can I quote that?”

“Go away now and you’ll find out later,” Josh says. “And no, you can’t quote that.”

Danny considers that, nods, and leaves. Josh shuts the door.

“You know you’re going to regret that later, right?” CJ asks.

“I’m sure I am. Listen, Sam and I are going out for dinner.”

“Okay. And I care...why, exactly?”

“We’re going out to dinner,” Sam says. “Publically.”

“You’re proving him _right_?” she asks, offended.

“CJ, I could not possibly care less about proving Danny right,” Josh says. “Also, he’s going to find out he’s right very quickly if he talks to anybody who was in the bullpen five minutes ago.”

CJ gives them a look. “Fine. Go forth and prove Danny right. Are you coming back after?”

“Yeah,” Sam says. “How’d the briefing go?”

“It went well, except Danny had to ask if you two were dating in front of everyone else.”

“What did you say?” Josh asks.

“I told him he was supposed to be asking a relevant question,” CJ says. “Only I said it in a funny way that distracted everyone else from the fact that he asked.”

“Okay,” Josh says. “We’re going to dinner now.”

“See you later,” CJ says. “Watch out, he’ll be lurking. Again.”

Danny is indeed lurking outside of her office. He follows Josh and Sam outside.

“Shouldn’t you be in the press room?” Josh asks.

“Nah, she’s done with us for the night,” Danny says. “When you said _later_ , you meant now, right? Because I want my exclusive _before_ some aide leaks it to a real gossip magazine.”

They leave the White House property and start walking west.

“So, where are we going?” Danny asks, holding his pen at the ready.

“We’re going to Founding Fathers,” Josh says, slightly bewildered. “Why are you writing that down? You’re following us anyway.”

“Just making sure,” Danny says cheerfully. “Now, how about that exclusive?”

Josh shares a glance with Sam. “Sure, we can do it now,” Josh says. “You have until we get there.”

“Okay, important questions first then,” Danny says. “How long have you been dating?”

“Since last Christmas,” Josh says. “How did you know we were dating?”

“I have my sources,” Danny says.

“Seriously, how’d you know?” Sam asks, sounding irritated. “Did we slip up?”

“No, you did fine. CJ dances around the question a little too well, that’s all,” Danny says. “Also, Chris told me you went out on Christmas Day and threatened to disembowel him.”

“We weren’t dating on Christmas Day. At least not until that afternoon,” Josh says. “Chris was assuming. And I didn’t threaten him with anything.”

Danny shrugs. “He’s right now. How’d you get together?”

“We visited Mount Vernon,” Sam says. They turn onto the next street.

“Well, that’s just-”

“Shut up, Danny,” Josh says. “Why are you reporting on this, anyway? Don’t you have real news?”

“Everyone has the real news of the day,” Danny says dismissively. “I finished the article hours ago, it just needs tweaking with the numbers and a couple quotes from CJ. This can be a sidebar. Below the fold, probably.”

“Well, if it’s below the fold, that’s okay then,” Sam says. “Did you write an article for each outcome?”

“Yes,” Danny says. “And I have three entire _hours_ to edit before print deadline, so I can write this with time to spare.”

“You’re terrifying,” Sam says. “Reporters are witches, Josh. There’s no other explanation.”

“You’re jumping to conclusions, Sam,” Josh says. “I think he’s just dabbling in black magic.”

“Ha, ha,” Danny says. “Very funny. How do you deal with professionalism?”

“We’re colleagues at work,” Sam says. “We work in the White House. There’s not really time to be anything more.”

“Josh?”

“Same answer,” Josh says. “Look at that, we’re here. Bye, Danny. Have fun with your article.”

“Bye, guys,” Danny says, scribbling in his notepad. “Have a nice evening.”

Josh and Sam walk into the restaurant. It’s busy, but not horribly so. Using Josh’s name gets them a booth in ten minutes and an apology for the wait. Josh feels a little bad, but if you’re going to suffer under the public gaze as a White House employee, you might as well get something out of it, right?

Aside than the whole _making-a-difference_ thing, that is.

“So,” Sam says as the waitress leaves to get their drinks. “We’re publically dating now.”

“I guess we are,” Josh says.

“That’s going to take some getting used to.”

“Yeah.”

“Want to start tomorrow?” Sam asks.

“Huh?” Josh says.

“I’m asking you on a date,” Sam says. “Tomorrow. If work goes well, we can go somewhere afterwards. A movie or something, I don’t know.”

“Isn’t this already a date?” Josh asks.

“This is dinner,” Sam says.

“Doesn’t that count?”

“I don’t know. At this point, I wouldn’t care if you were replaced by Al Kiefer in a bathrobe, as long as I got my food,” Sam says. The waitress returns with their drinks and a basket of bread. She takes their orders and leaves; Sam grabs a piece of bread.

“You say that now, and yet I am the one who had to see Al Kiefer in a bathrobe last year,” Josh says. “You have food now, so is this a date?”

Sam chews his bread thoughtfully. “I guess it can count as a date.”

They sit in silence for an awkward minute.

“I was surprised that Skinner gave you names,” Sam says. “He always seemed pretty adamant about his party loyalty.”

“Yeah. He is, but he didn’t want the bill passed,” Josh says. “Despite the fact that he _voted_ for it.”

Sam snorts. “He voted for it because he’d be a pariah if he didn’t. He was already walking the line.”

Josh nods. “I kinda feel bad for him. He has to deal with all the shit from his own party.”

Sam shrugs. “He chose his party. He can always join us, but I don’t think he will. He has too many opinions on how small government should be.”

“Yeah. Hey, it’s Tuesday, right?” Josh asks, checking his watch.

“Last time I checked,” Sam says.

“The game’s on tonight. Miami and New York, I think,” Josh says. “It started at 8.”

“Might be able to catch the last quarter if we can wrap everything up fast,” Sam says. “You want to come over to my place?”

“Oh, you’re a first date kind of guy?” Josh asks. Sam looks horrified for about a second, and then he laughs.

“Josh!”

“Sam!” Josh imitates him.

“Really, do you want to watch the game if we get out early enough?”

“Course I do,” Josh says. “You have beer, right?”

“Of course I have beer. What kind of man do you take me for?” Sam asks.

Before Josh can come up with an answer, their food arrives. The waitress smiles at them. “You gentlemen celebrating anything special?”

“No,” Josh says.

“The sweet, sweet triumph of victory,” Sam says at the same time.

“Well, congrats on that,” she says. “Let me know if you need anything.”

Once she leaves, Josh turns to Sam. “The sweet, sweet triumph of victory?”

“I will admit that it’s not my best writing,” Sam says. “However, I also came up with it in less than a second, so I think I deserve credit for that.”

Josh inclines his head, conceding the point. They eat quickly and by the time it’s nine o’clock, they’re on their way out of the restaurant.

A blast of cold air greets them as they step out into the night. By unspoken agreement, they quicken their pace to what could generously be called speedwalking.

They check back in to the West Wing. It’s quiet - the fuss of the vote has died down, and most people have left for the night.

“You need anything, Josh?” Donna asks as they pass her office.

“Is there anything I need to do tonight?” Josh asks.

“No, you’re good. CJ says you can go,” Donna says. “I’m going to stay for a while and finish up this memo.”

“Okay. Make sure you go home before ten,” Josh says. “You can work on it tomorrow.”

“Okay,” Donna says. “Have fun with Sam.”

“Yeah, I will,” Josh says before realizing what _that_ sounded like. “Wait, no, what?”

“Watching the game,” Donna clarifies.

“How do you know that?”

“I know everything, Josh,” she says. “Also, you’ve been talking about it since last week and Sam looks impatient. You should go before you miss it.”

“Yeah. Okay,” Josh says. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” Donna says.

“Should you check in with Toby?” Josh asks.

“Yeah, probably,” Sam says. They walk toward the communications bullpen, which has a few late workers and smells like Chinese takeout.

Toby’s in his office, bouncing his rubber ball against the wall.

“Hey, Toby,” Sam says. “Are we done for the night?”

Toby looks up. “Hey, Sam. Josh. Yeah, you’re done. That was good work today, by the way.”

“Are you okay?” Sam asks.

“I’m fine,” Toby says. “Why?”

“You sounded like you were being nice to me,” Sam says.

“I wasn’t. Get out of my office,” Toby says.

“Okay,” Sam says. “See you tomorrow.”

They leave the White House and hail a taxi back to Sam’s apartment. The drive is quiet. Josh taps his foot for a few minutes and stares out the window as the city lights go by.

Finally, they pull up at Sam’s apartment complex. Sam pays the taxi driver and they go inside.

Sam opens the fridge and tosses Josh a beer. Josh fumbles, but manages to keep it from dropping to the hardwood floor.

They sit on Sam’s couch and turn on the television.

It’s the middle of the third quarter, and Miami is winning by three points. Every few minutes, Sam adjusts his position ever so slightly closer to Josh, which is a bit distracting if Josh is honest.

By the time the fourth quarter starts, Sam’s halfway into Josh’s lap.

“Hi,” Josh says to him. “You’re sitting on me.”

“I was beginning to wonder if you were going to notice that,” Sam says, leaning into him.

“Ow, Sam,” Josh says, pushing him to the side. “Not the knee!”

“Oh, sorry. Are your elderly joints starting to ache?” Sam asks, lying down on Josh’s lap.

“Sam, you are _aware_ that you’re a fully grown man, right? You’re not exactly a featherweight.”

In response, Sam sits back up and kisses Josh, pushing him against the couch cushions.

“Sam,” Josh says, half-mumbling against his lips. “Would you like to go to bed?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” Sam says.

And so they go to bed.

Later, they fall asleep together, legs tangled in the sheets, pressed against each other. Sam’s warm enough that Josh kicks off the blanket and curls into him instead.

When Josh wakes up, it’s because of the cold.

He’s alone in the bed, and there’s a blanket on top of him, which is slightly confusing.

“Sam?” he asks groggily, sitting up. The sound of the shower running tells him that it’s time to get ready for work. _I must have missed the alarm._ Sam’s a light sleeper, unlike Josh.

He rolls out of Sam’s bed, flinching as his feet hit the cold floor - if Sam’s not going to put a carpet in, he should at least have a _rug_ , honestly, that’s just common sense - and steals Sam’s bathrobe from its hook on the wall. He wanders into the kitchen, starts a pot of coffee brewing, and picks up the newspaper from outside the door. It’s the Washington Post - Sam apparently never did cancel his subscription, though he’s certainly threatened to often enough.

The headline reads “MARRIAGE BILL DIES ONE VOTE DOWN.” There’s a picture of the House majority whip and a long article about the day’s events. Below the fold, there’s a short article dedicated to Josh and Sam’s relationship. Overall, Danny’s taken up the majority of the front page, which Josh figures is probably quite an achievement.

Josh pours himself a mug of coffee and skims the articles. They’re standard fare with a Danny twist - instead of insinuating Josh and Sam aren’t fit to work in the White House, he actually questions if the President is aware of his employees’ love lives.

“Is that us in the paper?” Sam asks, peering at the article. “You stole my bathrobe.”

“Your floor is cold,” Josh says. “The bathrobe is payment.”

“Danny’s article?”

“Not as bad as it could be. He’s wondering if the President knows what his employees do at night,” Josh says, handing him the paper.

Sam reads the article. “Yeah, that could have gone worse. The news cycle will be about the bill.”

“It’ll die down fast,” Josh agrees, pouring a mug of coffee for Sam.

“Looks like the Knicks won last night. 76-74,” Sam says, flipping to the sports section. “Down to the buzzer, according to the article.” He pops a bagel into the toaster oven. Josh goes to take a shower.

As he’s dressing, he realizes that his tie somehow wound up with a stain. He rubs at it, but it’s long dry. He stares at it, trying to figure out when that happened. _Dinner last night? It must have been then...._

“Sam?” he calls.

“Yeah?” Sam asks.

“Can I borrow a tie?”

In response, Sam tosses a tie at him. It’s blue with little rubber ducks on it.

“Sam,” Josh protests.

“It’s a perfectly good tie, Josh,” Sam says, tying his own tie, which is gray with little silver threads running through it.

“We work in the White House.”

“Rubber ducks are very dignified,” Sam says.

Josh gives up and puts the tie on.

“Do you want to walk today?” he asks.

“Sure,” Sam says. “I could do with the exercise.”

“Sam, you’re literally the most in-shape person I know who isn’t a professional sports player,” Josh says.

“I like walking to work,” Sam says. “It’s peaceful, which is nice because we both know we won’t have a quiet moment all day.”

“Not from the moment we walk in the door,” Josh agrees.

They walk to the White House together. The morning air is brisk, despite the cloud cover. Josh tucks his hands into his pockets; Sam appears to be unaffected.

The sun peeks over the horizon, casting light onto the White House as they pass through the security gate.

It’s a new day.


End file.
